The Drugs Don't Work

Hermione spent the next few days cursing her conscience. She couldn't believe that she actually felt guilty for turning down Parkinson's request for help. She didn't want to get tangled up in whatever web Malfoy was spinning. It was bound to be messy and complicated, and she didn't need anything like that in her life right now.

She couldn't help but pay attention when Malfoy strolled into Charms twenty minutes late. He struck the same uncaring pose as always; his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing his Dark Mark as if he was proud of it; his tie was askew and he had no bag.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Flitwick said sarcastically. "Do you have your homework?" he asked, pointedly looking at Malfoy's empty hands.

"Nope," Malfoy replied.

"Oh, Draco, I put it in my bag for you," Parkinson piped up. "You left it on a table in the common room."

Malfoy looked quizzically at Parkinson but didn't call her out on her blatant lie. "Cheers, Pansy," he replied disinterestedly as Parkinson handed it over to Flitwick.

Hermione could easily read the situation. Parkinson was doing Malfoy's homework. It would explain his falling marks. For all his faults, he was still intelligent. Only an intelligent wizard could have pulled off the stunt with the Vanishing Cabinets back in their sixth year. But since he'd returned to Hogwarts, he appeared downright disinterested in everything. He made no effort in class, just scraped along, and now it appeared he wasn't bothering to do any homework. Hermione bit her lip; she couldn't believe she was even this interested in what Draco Malfoy was or wasn't doing. It was none of her business. Harry and Ron had the right idea in trying to ignore Malfoy's existence. But it wasn't in her nature to be so callous, especially when she'd been petitioned directly for help.

One thing that Parkinson had said to her had haunted Hermione. She had paid more attention than usual since the Slytherin witch had mentioned it, and found it to be the truth. She was right: Malfoy didn't have anyone who cared - well, no one but Parkinson. The teachers were so unenthusiastic about having Malfoy return to the school that they willingly ignored him. If Hermione's grades dropped as dramatically as his had, then she would have been hauled in front of McGonagall - and most of her teachers - by now to find out what was wrong, and to work out a solution. But it appeared that Parkinson could do Malfoy's homework and not one teacher noticed or, more accurately, cared. This struck her as terribly sad. To have no one care what happened to you was a terrible fate.

By the end of Charms, Hermione had made her mind up and she called to Parkinson across the room:

"Parkinson, have you got a minute?"

Parkinson looked up in surprise and walked over to Hermione.

"Is everything okay, Granger?" she asked.

"Yes. I've just been thinking, and I've decided to help. You were right, this status quo cannot continue," she said, hoping she wasn't going to regret this decision.

Parkinson looked at her in surprise. "That's great. Thanks a lot, Granger. So when do you think we could go over those things we discussed?"

Hermione was grateful that at least Parkinson wasn't dumb enough to talk out loud in a classroom about schedules and patrol routes. That would make this a less risky thing to agree to.

"Come by the office during my next open hours. I'm in the office the day after tomorrow, between 7 and 8PM," she informed the Slytherin girl.

"Okay, see you then," Parkinson replied, walking back to Blaise's side.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked. He and Ron had waited for her outside the classroom, completely baffled as to why she was talking to Pansy Parkinson.

"Oh, Parkinson came the office during my hours last week and asked me to help her with a little problem," Hermione responded, off-handed.

"Since when does Parkinson, Queen of the Slytherins, ask Hermione Granger for help?" Harry asked her suspiciously.

"Since she's been having trouble with some of the Slytherin first-years, who are still getting bullied, and she wanted my help in stamping it out. I said I'd think it over and try and come up with a strategy," she made up on the spot.

There wasn't a lot Harry and Ron could say to that. No one condoned the bullying of little first-years, who hadn't even been in Slytherin last year. It also gave her an excuse to be seen talking to Parkinson on other occasions.

"Hmm… Well, be careful, Hermione. You can'ttrust those snakes," Harry cautioned.

She smiled brightly at him and linked her arm through his. Both her boys would have a hissy fit if they knew what she'd really been asked to help Parkinson with. There was nothing innocent about Draco Malfoy.

Draco stared grumpily at his plate at dinner that evening. The numbing effect that the alcohol had given him was starting to wear off. He found that going through the day in a haze of drunkenness could no longer combat his demons. He also had some serious health issues brewing thanks to his continued drinking. His liver felt as if he'd fed it to a Thestral, and his stomach was rebelling from the acidic liquid diet he was feeding it. It was a sad state of affairs when alcohol stopped working, and to make matters worse, the amount of time he could go sober was becoming less. He was getting shaky hands and terrible headaches, which he knew meant he was turning into an alcoholic. He probably should be worrying about this more than he actually was. He'd come to dinner today in an effort to eat something before his body completely collapsed. He certainly didn't want to end up in the Infirmary under Madam Pomfrey's care. He certainly wouldn't get any Firewhiskey from her and she'd notice his nightmares. He'd probably be forced into actually dealing with his issues rather than drowning them in whatever alcohol he could get his hands on. Maybe he could start using recreational drugs. The Muggle Studies class that he was forced to attend had addressed the abuse of drugs the other week. Draco had cringed at the images of Muggles injecting themselves. If anything, it had re-enforced the stereotypes he'd been told about Muggles being inferior. Draco dismissed this idea as the thought of doing something so degrading was distasteful to him. Besides, there was the practicality of where he could procure such drugs; he doubted Hogsmeade had a roaring trade in heroin. No, he'd have to stick to the drug of alcohol.

Draco lifted his head from the bowl of soup he was unenthusiastically contemplating to find that Granger was watching him again. She'd been doing that for the past couple of days and it was getting on his nerves. Her brown eyes were too alert and seemed to bore a hole straight through to his soul. He'd bet she'd be a pretty good Legilimens if she was ever taught. Good job Snape was dead, and that he'd hated all Gryffindors, otherwise he might have taught her.

Draco sneered at the goody two-shoes Head Girl. It did the trick and she turned away to concentrate on whatever the Fuckwit-Who-Should-Have-Snuffed-It was saying. Draco wished he could dismiss her from his mind as easily. He kept thinking about her and flashes from the night in the broom closet kept replaying in his mind. To make matters worse, if the house-elves made anything with cinnamon, he was automatically reminded of her blasted scent. It was almost as if her smell had invaded his senses. He didn't like it one bit. It was probably because it'd been ages since he'd gotten laid and he didn't have a hope in hell of getting rid of his thoughts of the annoying Mudblood in another girl because they all kept a large distance from him. All of his dad's bullshit about girls throwing themselves at Death Eaters wasn't so true now that Voldemort was dead. Not that he ever believed it; look at Snape. Draco doubted if he'd ever lost his virginity.

Fuck, his life was shit. If Draco believed in karma then the saying that payback was a bitch would be more than true in his case. But he didn't believe in any of that bullshit. You make your own luck, and in his case, he had little luck to make any out of it. It was rather ironic that the Weasleys - those poverty stricken pure-blood blights - now had a higher status in the wizarding world than the Malfoys. His grandfather would be spinning in his grave. It was at this point that Draco gave up trying to care about the state of his stomach, pushed his bowl of soup away, and started sipping from his hip-flask once more. He wasn't aware that two pairs of female eyes watched this with immense sadness.

Parkinson was waiting punctually outside Hermione's office on Thursday at. Hermione was running a little late and had debated for a minute about whether to turn up at all when she spied Parkinson waiting patiently from around the corner. She drew a deep breath. She couldn't take back her offer of help now, and the performance Malfoy put up during dinner last night stiffened her resolve. She was a Gryffindor and once she gave her word, she kept it.

Parkinson sighed with relief when Hermione came up next to her and opened the office with a flick of her wand.

"Thought I'd changed my mind?" Hermione asked with a smile.

"I wouldn't blame you - I probably would if I was in your position," Parkinson replied.

Hermione didn't let on that she'd come oh-so-close to actually turning and running away from her office. She didn't want to give Parkinson any inkling of the agony this decision was causing her.

"Please sit down," she said.

Parkinson sat right at the edge of the seat in front of Hermione's desk.

"So, tell me again what you think I can help you with," she said.

"Like I said earlier, I'm not asking for your actual involvement. I recognise how distasteful that would be for you. However, I could do with your collusion in keeping me informed of professor and prefect patrol schedules, routes and any other inside information you may have that could help keep Draco's night-time wanderings a secret," Parkinson replied.

Hermione knew that this would take little of her time. She had most of this information mapped out in her head. It was more the moral dilemma of helping a bunch of Slytherins break the rules to keep her school nemesis from being expelled. She knew that she had already made the decision; she'd made it when, acting on Parkinson's words, she'd observed the rather pathetic life of Draco Malfoy. It was just taking that final plunge that would make her not able to step back.

"Okay, that should be simple enough. Following our conversation the other day, I took the liberty of getting the rotas for the rest of the month copied," she said, handing Parkinson a few sheets of parchment.

Parkinson smiled at her. "I know you have no reason to believe me, but I really am grateful for your help."

"Who else is helping you? Because, to be honest, Parkinson, you cannot keep following Malfoy around every night, doing your homework and his, and stay sane. Something will have to give and it will most likely be you," she warned.

Parkinson gasped. "How did you know I was doing Draco's homework?"

"It doesn't take a genius to work it out. The only reason you're getting away with it is because the teachers don't care an iota for Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Parkinson flushed but answered her original query. "Blaise and Daphne are helping with the homework. We're splitting 'Draco-patrol' up between Blaise, Theo and me."

Hermione nodded. "That makes a lot more sense. You can't do everything on your own."

Parkinson stood and went to leave the office. "One last thing, Parkinson. If anyone asks why you are coming to see me in the office, I told Ron and Harry that we are looking to tackle the bullying against Slytherin first-years."

Parkinson was surprised; Hermione could see it on her face. "Don't be so surprised, Parkinson. Harry, Ron and I didn't manage to continuously defeat the evil schemes of Voldemort and his Death Eaters with luck. We're good at thinking on our feet, and very adept at telling people one thing whilst doing something completely different," she said with a smile.

"Now why am I not shocked?" Parkinson replied. "You would have made pretty decent Slytherins, all three of you."

Hermione scoffed at the suggestion but left it at that.

Pansy made her way back to the Slytherin common room, still smiling at Granger's parting shot. She could see how the Head Girl had gained her reputation as the 'brightest witch of her age'.

"How did it go?" Blaise asked when she made it across the common room to him.

Pansy checked to see if anyone was listening. The involvement of the Head Girl was just between her and Blaise. They had decided to keep it from Daphne and Theo. Theo was still too bitter towards Draco to not possibly use this information to completely fuck him over, and, at the same time, a member of the Golden Trio. It would be a completely Slytherin thing to do.

"Fine. She already had the information we needed and came up with a cover story as to why I would be in her office," she told him and then filled him in on the rest.

He whistled. "I may not like her but you have to give the girl credit. She does a thorough job."

"We're lucky that she's inclined to help us at all," she said.

He looked unimpressed at this. "It is Granger, Pansy. The girl meddles in anything she can get her hands on. It's the typical Gryffindor mentality."

"Well in this instant, I'm pretty happy for that characteristic. As you said, we need all the help we can get and I don't know why, but I trust her," Pansy replied.

"It's because she practically oozes Gryffindor nobility. If she gave you her word then she won't go against it."

"Thank goodness. I don't think I could cope with yet another Slytherin in this situation. It's nice to deal with someone straight forward."

Hermione was strolling down the corridor, feeling pretty pleased with herself. Professor Vector had just singled her out for excellent work in Arithmancy. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she failed to notice the pale hand that shot out until it grabbed her arm. She shrieked as she was dragged into an alcove behind a tapestry. She was held against someone whilst the hand covered her mouth so she couldn't scream.

"Are you going to be quiet or not?" an aristocratic voice she recognised all too well drawled.

She nodded and the hand withdrew. She pushed it away and turned around.

"Malfoy, how dare you manhandle me like that?" she hissed.

"What, you'd rather I come up to you when you're with Potty and the Weasel?" he mocked.

"I'd rather you didn't approach me at all," she responded.

"Like you haven't been dreaming about my kisses," he mocked.

"Please, Malfoy, if I thought about them at all, then it wouldn't be in dreams but in nightmares."

Malfoy looked Hermione up and down and it felt as if he was mentally stripping her.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, tired of this mental game already.

"I want to know what you're up to with Pansy," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Granger. You know exactly what I'm talking about," he sneered.

"She came to me asking to help stamp out the bullying of some Slytherin first-years," she said.

"Bullshit," he snarled. "Tell me what's really going on."

Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten. She really didn't want to be having this conversation with him. She also didn't know the dynamic between Parkinson and Malfoy, so she couldn't even lie convincingly.

"Parkinson asked me to help her out with some patrol rotas," she said, hoping that the minimal information she was giving would be enough. She didn't have much hope in that.

"Let me guess: she wanted this in order to keep sneaking around after me to stop me being caught for breaking curfew and then being kicked out of Hogwarts," he growled.

Hermione just nodded her agreement.

"You know, Princess, little Gryffindors such as you have no place getting involved in the schemes of Slytherins. If I were you, I would stay well out of my business," he warned.

At that moment in time, Hermione fully agreed with him. She didn't want to be anywhere near him or his problems. She cursed Parkinson for getting her involved at all.

"Believe me, Malfoy, I don't want to touch your problems with a barge-pole. If you want to go and kill yourself with alcohol then feel free," Hermione hit back.

"Then why are you helping Pansy out? It makes no sense, Granger," he said, looking a little confused.

His expression was so unusual. She usually just saw the Malfoy sneer, so to see him looking puzzled made her think of Parkinson's words about him being lost.

"Because she's running herself ragged trying to keep you out of trouble," she blurted out.

Malfoy sniggered at that. "Granger, you really are a soft touch."

"She cares about you, Malfoy. She's possibly the only person who does and you're rewarding her by giving her a massive headache."

"I don't need sermons from a swotty know-it-all like you, Granger," he snarled.

"Maybe you do because you treat your only friend like crap and you're lucky that she's still trying to save your arse," she said passionately.

"You can shove your morality up your uptight arse, Granger. I don't need your help, and Pansy doesn't need your encouragement. You all just need to leave me the hell alone," he growled before barging through the tapestry and down the corridor.

Hermione leant against the wall and closed her eyes. She guessed she should probably go and find Parkinson to let her know what had happened.