"I'm sorry," Astoria wailed, now clearly very highly intoxicated. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"It's fine," Hermione said shortly, which Draco knew meant it was, in fact, very much not fine. "Draco?" continued, turning towards him. "Little help?"
Astoria had begun to cry.
Draco's head shot up, locking eyes with a very frazzled Hermione. Her face was flushed with frustration, and she was immobile due to the layer of vomit covering her shoes. Draco rose quickly, grabbing his wand and casting Scourgify. "We should probably get her to bed," Draco muttered.
"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "Here—" she wrapped a hand around Astoria's upper arm. "—I'll take this side, and you take the other."
Draco obliged, wrapping his own hand around Astoria's arm. "Can you walk?" he asked.
Astoria did not answer but stood on shaky legs as she stumbled towards her bedroom, led by Hermione and Draco. Collapsing indelicately on the bed, Astoria curled up and began to cry harder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept repeating in a small voice, her eyes closed tightly. It was clear that she was no longer apologizing to Hermione.
"I'll get her some water," Draco offered as Hermione sat on the bed with Astoria, running her hand along her back in an attempt to comfort her. When Draco returned with the water, Hermione took it from his hands and encouraged Astoria to drink it.
Astoria refused, shaking her head before hiccupping a quiet, "N-No."
Hermione sighed, placing the glass of water on the bedside table and looking to Draco. "I think I'm going to stay with her," she said quietly.
"What?" Draco asked dumbly.
"She's a wreck right now, Draco. I think she could use a friend," Hermione replied.
"Do you want me to stay?"
Hermione shook her head, now rubbing small circles on Astoria's back as she continued to cry. "No. I'll be all right. Go home, get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."
Draco wanted to argue. He wanted to stay with her, or have her come home with him. He didn't want to be without her—he never slept much without her. Draco's gaze fell on Astoria, who continued to shake with the force of her sobs, hiccupping occasionally as she continued to say, "I'm sorry" to no one in particular. Hermione was right, Draco realized. Astoria was a mess, and she needed a friend. And who better than Hermione? Draco sighed before leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly. "I'll see you in the morning?"
"Yes," Hermione said, smiling up at him.
Draco pressed another kiss to her forehead before he left Astoria's room, and the inn, before apparating directly into their flat. In an instant, it was clear how much Hermione's mere presence affected the flat. The living space was dark, and much too quiet for Draco's liking. With a sigh and a flick of his wand, the flat was once more illuminated, but it did little to ease Draco's mood—it was still much too quiet, and very lonely without her. Certain he would be unable to sleep, Draco headed to the kitchen, where he poured himself a tumbler of firewhiskey.
Unsure of what to do in the flat without Hermione, Draco simply stood at the kitchen window, gazing down at the few passersby that milled about the street as he sipped his drink. It had been an odd evening from the start, he thought. Astoria had behaved so very differently than he had ever seen. The Astoria he knew—the real Astoria—was always very cool, and calm. Aggressive, brash, and obnoxious. Tonight she had seemed almost giddy—easily excited, and entirely on edge, right until she careened clear off of it.
Draco sighed again. So there was something wrong with Astoria, then. At least she had Hermione there to comfort her. Draco looked towards their darkened bedroom, and he thought it had never looked less inviting. Grabbing his firewhiskey, Draco headed towards the living room, hoping he could find something interesting on the telly. On the couch, he found a snoozing Crookshanks and Draco rubbed the cat affectionately between the ears. Having been disturbed, Crookshanks looked up at the intruder with indignation, but began to purr loudly when his large yellow eyes landed on Draco. "Hey, Crooks," he said fondly, taking a seat next to the cat.
Crooks stretched out next to him lazily, his eyes fluttering closed. As if remembering something important, the cat opened his eyes fully and pawed Draco's thigh, as if asking a question.
Draco understood the cat in an instant. "She's helping out a friend of ours tonight, Crooks," Draco said to the cat. "So I'm afraid it's just us two tonight."
Crookshanks' eyes widened further, and he gently clawed at Draco's thigh, clearly requiring more information.
"She's fine, Crooks," Draco assured, rubbing his back. "I promise."
Still eyeing him, Crookshanks dug his nails into Draco's thigh ever so slightly.
"I love her, too, you know," he told the cat, wincing.
The cat seemed pleased with this, and relaxed his hold on Draco's leg, allowing his eyes to fall shut once more. Draco turned his attention from Crookshanks, and back to the telly, which, as usual, failed to entertain him as much as the movies Hermione always played for him. Frowning, Draco left the couch and picked a movie from Hermione's collection at random. All she did was shove the rectangle into the rectangle-shaped hole. How hard could that possibly be? Reasoning that it could not be that difficult at all, Draco pushed the rectangle into the hole. Nothing happened and Draco frowned. Oh, that's right, Hermione always had to press a button to make everything work, just over there—
Draco pressed the button, and the rectangle began to whir inside the box, louder and louder, until Draco realized that something was not quite right. There was a crunching sound, and the rectangle was ejected by the box, followed by dark, shiny, flat strands of paper. Upon inspection, Draco instantly realized that the strands of paper had come from the rectangle itself, and he realized with dismay that he had possibly just destroyed one of Hermione's movies. "Fuck," he murmured. Crookshanks was beside him in an instant, batting enthusiastically at the paper. "Crooks, if you don't stop, I'm going to blame this on you," Draco threatened.
The cat narrowed his eyes and batted at the paper once more before walking away with an irritated flick of his tail.
A movie clearly not being an option, Draco abandoned the destroyed rectangle and returned to the couch and his firewhiskey. For the next several hours, Draco tried to read in an attempt to tire his brain, but it didn't seem to help. At 2 a.m., Draco got up and poured himself a large tumbler of firewhiskey, which he drank quickly before heading towards to the dark bedroom, Crookshanks following eagerly with his tail in the air.
Draco hadn't expected to sleep, and he didn't, merely closing his eyes and curling up with Crookshanks, who slept rather well, of which Draco was envious. He was grateful then, just as the sky was just beginning to brighten, as he heard the tell-tale crack of apparition.
Hermione padded softly into the bedroom, clearly trying not to wake him. There was a quiet rustle of clothing being discarded, and then the mattress dipped slightly as Hermione slid into bed beside him and pulled the covers up over herself. Draco sighed and moved closer to her, draping an arm across her abdomen. "Hey," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
"Did I wake you?" she asked softly.
"No," he replied, pulling her closer. "How is she?"
Hermione sighed. "She spent most of the night crying and puking," she replied tiredly. "I finally got her to drink some water and take a shower around 4, and finally to bed about an hour ago. She was clearly upset about something, but wouldn't tell me what."
Draco nodded against her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"I'm exhausted," she admitted, her voice breaking.
"You're a good friend," he said as he wrapped himself around her.
"Can we just sleep?" Hermione asked, pressing herself against him.
"Yes," Draco agreed, feeling sleep finally creep into his bones. "Yes."
They awoke hours later, with the sun high in the sky as Crookshanks began to meow loudly before proceeding to walk on top of them, begging for his breakfast. Hermione awoke with a groaned, "Dammit, Crookshanks."
"Stay," Draco said, yawning. "I'll feed him."
"Thank you," she murmured, her head falling back to the pillow.
"You're a pain, you know that?" he said to Crookshanks as he headed towards the kitchen, the cat trotting beside him happily. In the kitchen, he found half a can of shredded tuna, which he placed directly on the floor, ignoring Crookshanks' look of disdain. "If you're hungry enough, you'll deal with it. She's too tired to do your dishes."
With Crookshanks fed, Draco made his way back to Hermione, who had curled up on his side of the bed and was now drooling on his pillow. With a grin, Draco laid down next to her, with just enough room left for him on the bed. Seemingly instinctively, Hermione shifted against him, burrowing into his chest. Even as uncomfortable as he was, with one foot hanging off the bed, Draco draped an arm across Hermione's back and rested his head on the pillow directly next to her own, content to simply study her.
Even in sleep, Hermione looked exhausted, but still Draco thought she was still the most beautiful witch he had ever seen. From her wild, curly hair, strewn across the pillow haphazardly, to her long lashes that came to rest just at the tops of her delicate cheek bones, to her pretty pink lips, opened slightly as she breathed in and out on his pillow. Draco couldn't help himself as he moved his head on the pillow, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. Hermione awoke lightly with a soft sigh. "Hmm?" she grumbled.
"Sorry," Draco whispered, gently nuzzling his nose against hers. "You just looked so beautiful."
Hermione frowned, her eyes half open. "I've been drooling," she muttered in disgust, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.
Draco shrugged. "You do that sometimes, when you're really tired."
"And you thought I looked beautiful?" she asked in disbelief.
"Mmm," Draco confirmed, pushing a curl out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I am a man of peculiar tastes."
"Clearly," Hermione scoffed, shifting towards her side of the bed, giving Draco more room, which he took gratefully. "We need to spend more time with her, I think," she said quietly, once Draco had made himself more comfortable. "I think she's lonelier than she lets on."
"I just—" he began, choosing his words carefully. "I've never seen her like that before."
"Something happened," Hermione repeated. "She's just lying about it."
"Yeah, what was that about?" Draco asked, propping himself up on his elbow to stare at her fully. "She claims Noctua couldn't reach her, but The Prophet could? And, also, if Noctua can't deliver a letter, he always returns it unopened," he continued.
Hermione's palm grazed his cheek, cupping it comfortingly. "I'm just as lost as you are," she replied.
"The good news," Draco said, smirking as he nuzzled her palm. "We have something else to worry about now."
"Things were getting rather dull, weren't they?" Hermione asked with a short laugh.
"But they love us in France," Draco said seductively, wrapping his arms around Hermione and rolling them so that she was on top of him.
"Perhaps we should visit," Hermione mused, leaning over him.
"Perhaps," he replied, gripping her hips.
"I told you it would make a difference," she said softly, peering into his eyes.
Draco smiled softly, before tucking a curl behind her ear so he could see her fully. "You did, my love. Thank you."
"Thank you?" she asked quizzically.
"For wanting them to see me," he said quietly.
Hermione smiled brightly. "I do. I want them to see you. But they'll never see you the way that I do."
"No," he agreed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down to him so she was laying across his chest, her head buried in his neck. "I wouldn't want them to," Draco confided. "Only you."
Hermione sighed and softly kissed Draco's shoulder. "Did you have a relaxing night at home with Crookshanks?" she asked, her breath tickling his neck.
Draco chuckled, running his palm down her back. "Actually, no. We both missed you. I swear he thought I was keeping you from him—I'm pretty sure I've got some claw marks in my thigh."
"Crooks!" Hermione called, turning her head to face the door. Immediately, Crookshanks appeared in the doorway, cleaning his whiskers and paws, having clearly just enjoyed a meal. He looked to Hermione warily, as if he knew he was in trouble. "Were you naughty last night?"
Crookshanks let out a long, irritated meow, flicking his bushy tail in protest.
"I know," soothed Hermione, as if understanding the cat clearly. "But I was busy—besides, you had Draco. You two are friends, remember?"
Crookshanks appeared to think for a moment before he bounded towards the bed, landing on it with one smooth leap. Purring loudly, he plopped himself down on Draco's pillow, directly behind his head before nudging at Draco's hair affectionately, in what Draco could only assume to mean the cat was apologizing. "No worries, Crooks," Draco said, scratching at the cat's prodigious belly.
"Good boy," Hermione murmured sleepily. Against him, she yawned and snuggled into Draco's neck, clearly intent on going back to sleep.
As much as Draco was enjoying simply lying here with a snoozing Hermione, he realized that it was growing late in the morning, and Draco had been intent of visiting his mother. Regretfully, he spoke, "As much as I love this, Hermione, I do want to visit my mother," he said softly, still stroking her back.
Hermione groaned and raised her head to look at him. "Do you want me to come with you?" she asked quietly.
Draco shook his head. "No," he replied, kissing her soundly. "Stay here, catch up on your sleep. I'll bring us back some lunch."
A look of relief crossed Hermione's face, and her eyes closed instantly as she rolled off Draco, freeing him. "Sounds lovely," she said, stifling a yawn.
Chuckling, Draco rose from the bed and dressed quickly, determined to get as much time with his mother as possible. As he dressed, Draco suddenly had a thought—his mother was always complaining about the food at St. Mungo's, and wouldn't it be rather nice to bring her a treat? Remembering that Sugarplum's Sweets Shop was just down the road a bit, Draco reasoned that he could make the journey alone—it was a Sunday morning, the streets probably wouldn't be bustling for several more hours.
Kissing Hermione, who had already fallen back asleep, Draco quietly left the flat and made his way down Diagon Alley. He had been correct in his assumption, and there were very few people on the streets. Several people stopped to look at him, but Draco did his best to ignore them, the way Hermione always told him to. Most, however, ignored him entirely, and this suited Draco just fine.
Draco made his way to the sweets shop without incident, and a disinterested teenaged witch took his order of cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties, and macarons. As he waited for the witch to gather all of his pastries, Draco began to fidget, thinking suspiciously that perhaps this outing was going too well—
"You're Draco Malfoy," a voice accused.
Draco felt his blood run cold, and he looked around, attempting to locate the source of the voice.
"Behind you."
Draco turned and found a girl no more than 13 standing behind him, her arms crossed across her chest as she stared at him. "Erm," Draco began. "Yes, hi," he concluded weakly.
"I saw that article about you in The Daily Prophet," the girl said, accusingly.
"Did you now?" Draco asked, wishing that the counter girl would hurry the fuck up.
"It said you were dating Hermione Granger," she continued haughtily.
Draco furrowed his brow. "Er, yes. That's right," he replied.
"Well, is it true?" she asked, clearly annoyed with him.
"It is," Draco confirmed, tapping his fingers anxiously at the edge of the counter.
The girl's face softened and she uncrossed her arms, her eyes widening in awe. "She's my idol," the girl replied reverently.
Draco couldn't help but grin at the girl's expression. "Want to know a secret?" he asked conspiratorially.
The girl nodded enthusiastically.
"She's my idol, too."
The girl clapped her hands together in excitement and squealed. "What's she like?" she asked hurriedly. "Is she as pretty as she is in her pictures?"
"Prettier," Draco confirmed. "But maybe that's just my biased opinion." Draco thought about his brief interaction with the girl, and realized instantly who this girl reminded him of. "You remind me of her, actually."
Her eyes widened impossibly. "Really?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah," Draco confirmed, grinning.
"Malfoy?" called the bored voice of the counter girl.
Draco turned away from the girl and grabbed his bag, hurriedly thanking the counter girl, before he returned to Hermione's adoring fan. "Listen, I've got to run, but what's your name?" he asked.
"Sarah," she replied in awe. "Sarah. I'm a Muggle-born just like she is."
"Sarah," he said. "I should be able to remember that. I'll tell Hermione you say 'hello.'"
"Thank you," Sarah said dazedly.
Smiling, Draco left the sweets shop and apparated to the familiar alleyway near Purge and Dowse, Ltd., sweets bag in hand. It being a Sunday, the Atrium of St. Mungo's was deserted, and Draco made his made quickly through the quiet building at up to the 4th floor, eager to see his mother. Having arrived, Draco made his way through the empty hallway before pushing open the door to his mother's room. "Mother, you're always complaining about the food here, so I brought you—" Draco paused as his eyes found his mother. "Mother?" he asked quietly.
His mother sat at the foot of her bed, dressed only in green bathrobe—the color that indicated St. Mungo's—her hair unwashed and unkempt, her skin pale, and her eyes dull and unseeing. Hearing someone come into the room, she turned her head, but she did not react. She simply stared vacantly at Draco.
Draco dropped the bag of pastries instantly, rushing towards his mother. He sat before her, gripping her hands, pulling them towards him. "Mother?" he repeated desperately. Her hands were cold and clammy as he held them, and completely limp. There was no indication that the witch he had visited just yesterday had ever existed—had he imagined the whole thing?
His cheeks were wet, and Draco realized he had started to cry. Furiously, he wiped away his tears. Now was not the time. For just a moment, Draco wished he had asked Hermione to come, surely she'd know what to do, because he sure as fuck didn't—
He was crying still, why was he crying—
Mother—
"Jinxy!" he sobbed without even thinking.
Jinxy appeared in a matter of seconds. "Sirs!" she cried happily, before noticing the tears on his face. "Sirs?" she asked worriedly.
"Hermione," he gasped, finding it suddenly very difficult to breathe. "Get Hermione."
"Sirs!" Jinxy replied determinedly.
Draco fell to his knees, gasping for air. Breathe, his brain screamed, breathe!
A loud pop! reverberated around the room, and Hermione was on him in an instant, rubbing circles into his back. "Breathe, Draco," she said calmly. "You have to breathe. You're having a panic attack."
Draco gasped again. "Can't," he choked.
"Look at me, Draco," she said softly.
It took all the energy he possessed to raise his head and look at Hermione, even as dark spots clouded his vision. "Can't," he repeated, wheezing.
"If you can talk, you can breathe," Hermione said gently, continuing to rub circles into his back. "Breathe, love. Breathe."
Draco sucked in a great breath, filling his lungs so quickly he began to cough violently, his throat and chest burning. Eventually the coughs faded away, and his raspy breathing was fast and uneven, but he was breathing. "Can't—"
"Yes, you can," she soothed.
He exhaled forcefully, his vision coming back into focus. He looked back to Hermione, finally finding her amber eyes, focused intently on him. "Hermione, my mother," he said weakly, grasping at her hand.
"I know," she said, still calm. "I'll check on her in a minute, but I need you to calm down. She's breathing just fine, you're not."
"I'm calm," he said. "I'm calm." He sucked in a large breath, then let it out, to prove to Hermione that he could breathe.
Hermione studied him for a moment before she kissed his forehead, lingering there seconds longer than she normally would. "I'm going to check on her now, all right?" she asked.
Draco nodded, forcing another breath—in, then out. He watched as Hermione went to his mother, clearly having just been pulled directly from bed, still dressed in a pair of his boxers, a jumper pulled haphazardly over a t-shirt. Her mouth set in a determined line, she performed a series of diagnostic charms on his mother, studying them with her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?" he asked after a few moments, still gasping.
Hermione turned away from her diagnostic charms, shaking her head minutely. "I don't know," she said quietly. "Nothing, Draco—I can't find anything."
"Look at her!" he cried. "She was fine yesterday!"
Hermione left his mother and returned to him, where she sank back down onto the floor, wrapping her arms around him. "I know. Look, stay here. I'll go find someone who works here, okay? I'll have them send for Healer Wilson."
Draco laughed, even as he cried. "Hermione, you're wearing boxers."
Hermione shrugged. "They're shorts. I'm not worried about it."
Draco sniffed. "Thank you," he said. "I didn't—I didn't know what to do."
She kissed him again. "I'll be right back, okay? Sit with her—keep her company, okay?" she urged.
Draco nodded, wiping his tears again. He rose unsteadily before he sat down next to his mother, who was still watching him with empty eyes. "Mother? It's Draco," he said, taking her hand.
Nothing.
Draco's eyes dropped to the floor, counting the tiles to distract his screaming brain. He was unable to look at his mother, not wanting to see her blank eyes, void of all recognition and spark. He continued to hold her hand loosely. She was cold to the touch.
Eventually Hermione returned, and with his eyes still on the floor, he realized she had been walking around without shoes or socks. Draco frowned at her bare feet on the tiled floor. "I had to threaten a few people, but he'll be here within the hour."
Draco nodded. "Come here," he said quietly, crossing his leg over his knee and yanking his shoe off, then his sock. He repeated this on the other side, pushing his socks towards Hermione.
"What?" she asked, taking the socks in confusion.
"You're walking around a hospital in the fucking winter, barefoot and in shorts. Fuck," he swore. "Put those on," he continued, motioning to the socks before pulling a blanket from the empty bed next to his mother's, wrapping it around Hermione's shoulders, warming her.
"I'm fine," Hermione insisted.
"You cannot walk around a hospital barefoot, Hermione! Are you crazy?" he asked.
Hermione paused, looking behind his head. "Look," she said softly.
Draco shifted slightly, and found his mother watching them with a slight smile on her face. "Mother?" he asked.
"The dragon," she replied, a contented smile settling upon her face.
"Mother?" Draco repeated.
"The dragon will protect you from the forest," Narcissa said, her eyes unfocused.
"Narcissa," said Hermione, shrugging off the blanket. "Do you remember?"
"No, darling," Narcissa replied with a smile. "Your boyfriend is very handsome, though."
"Narcissa," Hermione continued. "This is Draco—your son." She reached out a hand, gently claspin Narcissa on the shoulder.
"Draco," Narcissa said thoughtfully, with a small shake of her head. "A very odd name. A constellation, isn't it? My family was always so interested in constellations."
Draco sat slumped on the edge of the bed, watching the interaction between his mother and Hermione. Hermione, once seemingly cool and collected, had begun to visibly fray, her eyes constantly flitting from his mother to him, as if she couldn't decide who needed her attention more. Hermione's hand dropped from Narcissa's shoulder and she turned back towards Draco—a decision made—just as a disheveled Healer Wilson burst through the door, haphazardly rolling up a sleeve.
"I'm here," he said. "I'm told it's urgent."
Hermione's eyes shot to Draco, and Draco found himself unable to meet her eye. Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned to Healer Wilson. "Yes," she said calmly. "Mrs. Malfoy has been completely lucid for the past several days, but now she does not even remember Draco," Hermione continued, motioning to Draco. "I cast several basic diagnostics, but I can't find anything wrong."
"You're a Healer?" Healer Wilson asked as he rolled up his other sleeve.
Hermione's eyes flashed at the Healer. "No," she replied. "I am a Potions Master, but I did dual training as a Healer."
"Hmm," Healer Wilson responded, taking a step towards Narcissa, casting his own diagnostic charm.
As the Healer worked, Hermione took a seat next to Draco, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and pulling him so close that their foreheads were pressed together. "It's okay," she murmured lowly. "It's going to be okay."
If it weren't for the presence of Healer Wilson, Draco was certain he would've fallen completely apart in her arms—he was already trembling badly—but instead he nodded shortly, closing his eyes and breathing her in at an attempt at comforting himself as he struggled to fight back his anxiety. Hermione seemed to sense this, and she pulled him into her so that there was barely any space left between their bodies. He didn't care if Healer Wilson saw. Draco needed her.
Healer Wilson worked steadily for several minutes before turning to them. "I—" he began, rubbing the back of his neck in uncertainty. "I can't find anything wrong, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco squeezed his eyes shut even harder, willing this to be a nightmare crafted by his cruel self-conscious. "So now what?" Hermione asked coldly, taking charge.
The Healer sighed audibly. "Truthfully, there's not much I can do. I can give her a few memory potions and continue her regimen. But there's nothing wrong," he replied.
"What do you mean there's nothing wrong?" Hermione cried. "I had a lengthy conversation with this woman not 24 hours ago and now she doesn't remember her son—and you're telling me there's nothing wrong?"
"Ms.—"
"Granger," Hermione supplied fiercely.
"Ms. Granger," he continued. "I know this may be a bit jarring, but unfortunately this is sometimes what happens with long-term memory patients. They can be lucid one day, and completely the opposite the next day. Medically, she is fine. I will administer her a few potions, and her memory may regulate itself within the next few days—perhaps in the next few hours, even."
"So, what? You're just saying hope for the best?" Hermione asked harshly.
"Yes, Ms. Granger. That is precisely what I'm saying," the Healer replied gently.
"That will be all, then," she said coldly.
"I will prepare a potion for her," said Healer Wilson. "And it is imperative that she rest."
Hermione ignored him and left her seat, kneeling on the floor in front of Narcissa and taking her hands. Narcissa smiled softly down at Hermione. "Narcissa," she began, "we have to let you rest now, but I'll come back for you tomorrow morning, okay?"
"Of course, darling," Narcissa replied with a smile.
Hermione sighed and rose, returning to Draco. "Come on," she said quietly, resting her palms on his shoulders. "We should let her rest. We'll come back."
For the first time since she'd arrived, Draco was able to meet her eyes. "Okay," he replied quietly, looping his arms around her waist and pulling himself up.
Hermione slipped her hand into his and led him down the hall in silence. They remained quiet until they reached the alley way near Purge and Dowse, Ltd., when Hermione spoke, quietly, "Home?" she asked.
Draco merely nodded, and Hermione apparated them back to the flat. Wordlessly, Draco dropped her hand and made his way into the kitchen, where he pulled a bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet, opened it, and took several long swallows directly from the bottle, gasping as he swallowed the burning liquid. He exhaled desperately, then returned to the bottle for several more gulps. Within a few minutes, Draco could feel the pleasant numbing effects of the alcohol, and his brain began to cloud. His fingertips stopped trembling.
"Draco," came Hermione's voice. Draco turned a found Hermione watching him from the doorway. She sighed and walked to him, plucking the bottle from his fingers. "This doesn't help," she said softly.
Draco laughed bitterly. "Actually, it does," he replied, trying to wrestle the bottle back from her.
Hermione took a step back, holding the bottle away from him. "No, it doesn't," she said calmly.
"Hermione—"
Placing the bottle on the counter, Hermione stepped back towards him and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. "I'm sorry," she whispered into his ear as she held him. "I'm so sorry, Draco."
He attempted to push her away, grabbing desperately for the bottle, but Hermione refused to budge, simply holding him tighter. "Hermione," he said harshly, feeling irritated.
"I'm sorry," Hermione repeated, continuing to cling to him.
"Hermione, stop—" Draco said, trying to push her away once more.
"No," she replied, her fingers gripping at the shirt covering his shoulder blades.
"Just—stop—" he pushed at her weakly.
"No," she said firmly, resting her head on his shoulder and nuzzling against his neck. "No."
"Hermione—" his voice broke.
"It's okay," she replied, squeezing his shoulders.
"I just—I—" Draco cut himself off with a sob.
"I know," Hermione said quietly, soothing him. "I know."
"She was okay," Draco cried, dropping his head to her shoulder, tears now streaming from his eyes. "She was okay."
"I know," she replied, nuzzling him again.
"Hermione, I—" he cut himself off. "I don't know how to handle this—with everything else."
Hermione sighed against him. "I don't know what to say to make it better, Draco. But just know you're not alone," she said softly.
"I know, I know—I just, gods, without you—"
"Stop," she said, pressing a finger to his lips. "You've got me. I'm yours, remember?"
Draco nodded, lightly kissing the pad of her fingertip. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I couldn't do this without you."
Hermione smiled up at him. "You'll never have to.