When the morning light beckoned Hermione from her slumber, she was surprised to find herself in her bedroom. The last thing she could remember was the calming feeling of Harry's fingers against her scalp as she waited for Draco to emerge from the shower. She could only deduce she must have fallen asleep during the wait, which meant Harry likely put her in her room. The hint of a sleepy smile graced her lips as her thoughts drifted to the man in question.

Harry had always been a kind boy growing up, and it was obvious that trait had stayed with him despite the fame and fortune he'd amassed. That he was willing to literally put his life on hold in order to help her was a true testament to his character, and although she did not ask for his help, the idea of staying sober was beginning to grow on her. Especially if it meant she was allowed to continue to be a part of Harry's life once this was over.

Pushing down the quilt, Hermione rose from the bed and stretched her tired limbs. She winced as twinges of pain in her thighs and calves reminded her of yesterday's grueling hike. She moved across the room to her dresser, where she grabbed a fresh outfit for the day. Her personal wardrobe was still back at her derelict flat in Muggle London, which meant the five outfits tucked in the wardrobe had been purchased for her by Harry or Draco. Today's choice was a pair of thin black joggers and an emerald green henley. While the selection was far from something she would have normally chosen, she appreciated the simplicity the wardrobe provided. Besides, they were new and free of holes—something that could not be said about any of her clothing back home.

She moved silently to the restroom, hoping to keep her footballs light so as to not wake Harry, who tended to sleep well into mid-morning most days. After a quick shower to freshen up, Hermione piled her wet curls on the top of her head and secured them with a loose elastic band before making her way into the living room.

When she entered the room, she was surprised to find no hint of the blond wizard who normally rose with the sun. Typically, he would be seated in the living room, feet up on the coffee table with both The Daily Prophet and The Wizard's Voice laid out before him. He would have a cup of tea sitting on the arm of the couch with a half-filled pot resting beside his ankle. She had become so accustomed to having her morning cup beside him that a twinge of disappointment blossomed inside her chest.

With a tilted head, she looked around the room, trying to find any sort of clue that he had been through this room already. The kettle was untouched on the stove, and the floral teapot still sat in the drying rack beside the sink. Had he slept in? That seemed about as unlikely as making a hippogriff laugh, but he had most definitely not been in the living room this morning.

Turning on her heel, Hermione moved back down the hallway to the door that sat opposite of her own, and before she could second guess her judgement, she gave a sharp rap against the soft wood before opening the door with a tentative "Hello?"

The room was similar to her own. A full sized bed ran under the length of a single window. Thin, lace curtains did little to shield the sun rays that cast patterns across the room. A large black trunk sat at the foot of the bed, the padlocks in place on the brass latches. A single armchair sat opposite of the bed, and a small worn writing desk was tucked in the corner.

She took a slow step into the room, her hand frozen on the cold metal of the door knob. His bed was pristinely made. His folders tidy on the desk. There was no sign of him actually being in this room beyond his personal items that were left inside. He was gone—but seeing as his things were still there, the soft sting of him not letting her know of his departure didn't hurt as bad as the thought of him leaving for forever. She knew it was silly to feel upset about his disappearance, as it wasn't like he was obligated to let her know about his affairs, but she had grown accustomed to his presence. Hell, she might even admit to enjoying his company if pressed—but only when he didn't force her to traipse through the bloody forest in some sick pursuit of physical health.

She backed out of the room cautiously, not wanting her presence to be detected in case Draco felt like her looking in his room was some sort of invasion of his privacy. Her lips pursed when she turned on her heel after shutting the bedroom door, debating what she was to do now that her morning would not be filled with the comfortable silence of the blond's company. She shuffled down the short hallway, her fingers playing with the cuffed sleeves of her henley, and as she passed the door to Harry's room, her eyes lingered on the bright light that seeped out from the space between the bottom and the floor.

She came to a slow stop before doubling back and opening up his door. Unlike in Draco's room, she did not feel it necessary to announce her entry. Having spent numerous occasions living in the same area for extended periods of time, she felt more comfortable barging in. Even after all these years apart, she found herself falling into the easy rapport they once had.

Harry was asleep—which didn't surprise her in the least—and sprawled out across the full size bed like an overgrown starfish. His quilt only covered him from the waist down, which left the muscled expanse of his back visible. Gently closing the door behind her, Hermione leaned back against the thin wood, a soft smile falling on her lips as she watched Harry sleep, the rise and fall of his back beckoning her to run a comforting hand across his skin.

She knew technically she shouldn't be in his room with him—let alone with the door closed. It was one of Draco's numerous rules about her recovery. Separate Rooms. Working out. No contact with the outside world. The list felt eternally long and rather smothering considering she was a grown witch and should very well be allowed to do what she pleased. Besides, he wasn't even at the cottage to remind her not to wander into Harry's room. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?

Crossing the tiny room in three strides, Hermione crawled into the open space beside Harry on the mattress, carefully moving his arm from the pillow as she slipped under the covers beside her oldest friend. Pulling the warm blanket up over their shoulders, Hermione snuggled in close to Harry's back before winding her arms around his middle, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder blade. Nearly instantly a familiar warmth set in. Starting in the centre of her check, it worked its way across her skin like waves in the ocean, slowly lapping across her body until she was completely submerged in the consuming warmth.

Harry stirred, his hand moving to cover hers and intertwining on his stomach. "'Mione?" he questioned, sleep still thick in his voice as he looked blindly over his shoulder to try and see who was behind him, although he already knew. Beyond the instant spark that filled his soul at her touch, this was not something new to their relationship. Nearly eleven years ago while Horcrux hunting, they had found themselves in this very same position. It started out as a means to stay warm during the dead of winter but eventually developed into a routine when one needed comfort. The unspoken agreement continued until the end of the war, and just like everything else that they had grown to know and love about their friendship, it simply vanished.

Careful not to knock her in the head with his elbow, Harry rolled on his back and wrapped the petite witch in his arms, gently pulling her closer until she lay in the crook of his shoulder with her head on his chest. One hand stayed on her back, two fingers trailing up and down her spine through her shirt while his other hand moved behind his head.

Hermione laid in his arms for a while, silent and wrapped in Harry's warm embrace. No words needed to be spoken between them. As it had always been in their friendship, they both innately knew what the other needed. Comfort. Reassurance. Love. All of the things that Draco was trying to get her to verbally express over the last week that she had stubbornly refused to say. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to explain how vulnerable she felt. How bloody heartbroken she was when Harry and Ron disappeared from her life. How alone she felt for so bloody long. She'd spent years holding her breath all day as a means to mask her pain only to gasp for air at night because the reality had set in; she was once again fucking alone. Unloved. Unwanted.

Putting those feelings to words meant it was real. It meant admitting her pain and weakness. She wasn't ready to talk about her feelings. They were better kept inside where she could lock them deep inside her heart because that's where they felt safe. She could internalize her trauma and her abandonment issues until there was nothing left but the fake smile she wore in front of the camera for so many years.

But under Harry's touch—the physical touch she was supposed to avoid—she could forget the pain. She felt grounded. For the first time in many years, she felt like she could fucking breathe again. The thoughts still lingered in the back of her mind, their soft whispers haunting her, but in his arms she could begin to forget.

"Draco's not going to be happy." Harry broke the silence between them, his fingertips running across her shoulder blades and up onto her neck where he toyed with the tiny baby curls at the base of her head. "If he finds you in here—that is. Although to be fair, he's generally unhappy about something."

Hermione smiled against his skin before tilting her head up to rest her chin just over his heart. "He's not unhappy, he's just… aloof." Why she was defended Draco was beyond her, but she felt like someone had to since he wasn't here to correct Harry himself. "But it doesn't matter. He's not here. I was actually coming to see if you knew where he went before I got distracted by your warm bed."

All at once, the night's events on the porch sifted to the forefront of his mind. The kisses, Draco's hand on his cock, and his syrupy voice demanding in his ear. Harry fought to keep a flush from his cheek as his hand moved across his hair and over his face as he exhaled deeply. "Yeah, sorry. I must have forgotten," he lied. "He had some business in London he said he needed to take care of. Something about a new client."

Hermione's brows furrowed as she watched Harry purposely avoid her gaze. She might not have had the pleasure of being in his inner circle for the past ten years, but she could still bloody well spot when he was lying. Chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, she debated asking him for the truth, pressing him for the real whereabouts of their fearless leader. But she knew that if she pushed too hard, Harry might want to know why she cared. Would she like to know where Draco was? Of course, but was she ready to try and explain why his absence bothered her so? Absolutely not.

Instead, she laid her head on Harry's chest, pressing her ear to his heart and listening to its steady rhythm that calmed the wild energy building up in her soul. "Since he's gone, we can stay like this all day, right?" she whispered as she walked two fingers across his abdomen, moving from one beauty mark to the next.

Harry looked down, a lopsided grin pulling on the corners of his mouth as he watched her, grateful for the change in subject. "I mean, it doesn't necessarily sound like a bad idea," he began. "However, I think it might make eating unnecessarily difficult."

"Mister Malfoy. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Charlie said sarcastically as he looked up from his ledger book, the crisp white swan-feathered quill held precariously between two fingers.

Draco didn't bother to respond as he crossed the room with two quick strides, his right hand curled tightly around the handle of the heavy tote that hung at his side. Weasley's security goon had been reluctant to let him in without an appointment, but once he'd had a quick peek inside the bag, he was more than willing to let Draco disrupt Charlie's work.

He stopped two feet in front of the desk, not wanting to actually touch anything in this disgusting room if he could avoid it, and he tossed the leather tote to Charlie. The sound of the bag slapping against the well-worn desk reverberated off the walls of the dilapidated office space with a heavy thunk. Grey eyes lifted from the perturbed wizard, glancing around the room as his upper lip pulled up in a sneer. He had never been here before, but he already knew this room well. He'd seen countless stacks of photos with Hermione in it. Bent over the very desk before him or straddling the rolling chair Charlie sat it. On one occasion, he'd even taken her against the wall. His skin crawled as his eyes traveled between each location, and he fought the urge to withdraw his wand and hex the redhead to oblivion for what he had done to Hermione.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Charlie snapped, standing from the squeaky roller chair as he eyed the dragon hide tote skeptically. His shoulder length hair was pulled back in a low ponytail with a thick cord today, but in his agitation, strands of the fiery locks drifted to frame his face.

"It looks like a bag," Draco answered plainly. He could see a flash of anger flash in Charlie's eyes at his response, but his concern for the wizard's feelings was rather low on his list of priorities right now. "I know you're not too familiar with finery, considering your upbringing, but I would have thought you would know something as simple as luggage, Weasley."

Charlie seethed, his fingers curling into fists as his side. "Cut the shite, Malfoy. You know full well what I bloody meant. Why did you toss it on my desk?" Charlie snapped.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek to silence his sharp tongue. He needed to remain calm, and more importantly, he needed Charlie to remain calm so that he might be agreeable to the impending proposition. Lifting a hand from his side, Draco gave a slow sweeping gesture to the tote before sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Open it up and you'll see."

Charlie hesitated, his distrust for Draco evident in his narrowed gaze. Turning to his bodyguard, Charlie waited for the burly wizard to indicate the package was okay before he moved to open the bag.

Draco couldn't help but see the irony in this situation. This man literally wrestled with dragons at one point in his life, but he was leery about a bloody leather tote. If this was how he reacted, then it was no wonder he had a shabby office in a seedy part of Muggle London. He clearly lacked any sort of skills required to run a business—let alone a bloody drug empire.

He waited in silence, watching as Charlie opened the tote to reveal what lay inside. Money. Specifically, American Dragot. The silver octagonal coins were bound in stacks of twenty, wrapped in thick ribbons of spider's silk. Draco had charmed the bag to counteract the heavy weight the coinage would have carried, but magic could only do so much to goblin made coin. He watched as Charlie pulled out stack after stack of the Dragot, letting them drop on his desk with heavy thunks in pursuit of the bottom of the tote. When none was found easily, the redhead turned his eyes back to Draco, his brows raised in silent question.

"Six thousand Dragot, which converts to… roughly five thousand Galleons," Draco said plainly. "Feel free to count, but I assure you it's all there."

Charlie picked up one of the bricks of coins, untying the spider's silk twine, and he let the coins spill across his desk. The precious metal clinked together as he spread them out to verify their authenticity. "So I guess the rumors about you running away to America were true, then?" Charlie questioned, and when Draco gave no response, he let out a small tutting noise from the back of his throat. "You disappear for a decade and come back with a bag full of money. So what the hell are you looking to buy? Dragon's Breath? One of my girls—hell, for this kind of coin, all of them? What's your poison, Malfoy?"

Draco watched as Charlie lifted one of the Dragot to his mouth, where he bit into the side of the coin to make sure it was real silver. Grey eyes rolled at the show of distrust. Draco might be many things, but he had not fallen so far from society as to deal in counterfeit money. "I intend to buy your word, Weasley."

"Excuse me?"

"Your. Word." He punctuated crisply. "I think five thousand Galleons is plenty, don't you? Considering what type of business you deal in, I think it's more than fair."

Charlie tossed the coin on his desk before sitting down, his arms crossing over his chest as he tilted his head to the side. "My word? You want to give me six thousand Dragot for my bloody word?"

"That is my intention."

Charlie let out a hollow laugh, leaning back in his chair, and he kicked his boots up on his desk while he let his head tip back. "Alright Malfoy. What the hell do you want me to promise you? That I won't share your bloody secrets about your school days? You've got no problem from me there, but there are a lot more people you're going to have to pay off if you intend for your shady past to be swept under the rug."

"I have never once hid from my mistakes, Weasley. Some of us choose to rise above, while others clearly like to wallow in the muck of society." He let his eyes drift around the room to make his point before he looked back to the still amused redhead. "No, I don't need that. What I need is for you to leave Hermione Granger alone."

At once, Charlie's laughter stopped, and his feet hit the floor as he leaned forward in his chair. "Come again?"

"Leave Granger alone. Disappear from her life. Don't fire call her. Don't bloody owl her. Don't even fucking think about her. That coin is yours if you give me your word you'll leave her alone." Draco stepped closer to the desk, his spine straightening.

Charlie ran his tongue along his teeth under his lips, his fingers curling tightly around his arms. The Weasley temper that Draco was familiar with having gone to school with both Ron and Ginny became immediately apparent as Charlie's cheeks began to blossom red. "You have her?"

"Do you accept or not?" Draco questioned, purposefully ignoring his question.

"Where is she?" Charlie demanded.

"It's none of your business. Just tell me if you agree or not," Draco said. He felt his own temper begin to rise as he watched Charlie stand from the chair and lean across his desk in a weak attempt to intimidate him. Charlie was easily two stone larger than he was, but Draco knew he was weak. The injuries from his time at the dragon sanctuary had become too much to bear over the years, hence the wizard's new line of work.

"Did she send you? Tell her to fucking tell me herself if she wants to be left alone," Charlie snapped, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not going to be bought, Malfoy. Hermione is mine—"

"She is no one's fucking property, Weasley. Let alone yours," Draco interrupted. Leaning forward, he planted his hands firmly against the desk. "She doesn't need someone like you in her bloody life."

"And you determined that, did you?" Charlie said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're a bloody Death Eater. You fucking piece of scum."

"Tell me something I don't already know, you bloody prat." Draco shook his head as he took two steps back from the desk, his eyes rolling. "I can fucking own my past, Charlie. Can you say the same for what you've become?"

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

"You're a bloody drug dealer! And apparently you've expanded into prostitution. Your nose is far from fucking clean," Draco replied, his lips pursing.

"Hermione didn't seem to have a problem with my job, seeing as she kept coming around to suck my cock." Charlie slowly moved around his desk, a loose-hipped swagger accompanying his cocky tone.

"You got her hooked on drugs, you bloody wanker. She would have sucked off your troll of a guard if you promised her enough fucking product." Draco jutted his thumb to the burly wizard who still stood by the door. "No offense, mate. You're fucking massive," Draco told the gruff guard over his shoulder before turning back to Charlie. "Look, you either want the bloody money or you don't. But those are my conditions. If you accept, Granger is not to be your concern anymore."

Charlie leaned back on his desk, his long legs crossing at his ankles. "No deal. She's my friend. I'm not abandoning her. She needs me."

"She was your fuck toy, Weasley. Don't disillusion yourself into thinking it was anything more," Draco replied coldly before reaching into his jacket pocket and withdrawing his wand. He felt the guard behind him tense, his hulking body lurching forward. "Calm down, I'm collecting my money."

"No wands!" the guard snapped, already moving across the room towards him.

Draco let out an irritated sigh, and he flicked his wrist towards the coins spread across Charlie's desk. They began to stack on top of one another before the spider's silk ribbon wrapped around them to create a brick once more. "Alright, alright. I'll put it away," Draco relented, sliding his wand back into his pocket before the guard could act.

Moving next to Charlie, Draco reached out and put the bricks of coins back in his bag before beginning to pull the heavy tote from his desk, but just as he was about to turn, he felt a hand land on his wrist preventing him from moving further.

"Double," Charlie intoned, his cornflower blue eyes glued to the bag in Draco's hand. "Bring me double… and I'll leave her alone."

Twelve thousand Dragot. He was already over what Harry had given him as a deposit with just what he had in this bag, but the bloody arsehole wanted double?! The logical side of his brain begged him to tell Charlie to piss off. To remind him how much bloody money he was actually offering and to stop being stupid. But his heart overrode. Twelve thousand Dragots was a lot, but making sure Charlie Weasley was out of her life forever was worth it. Her sobriety meant more than bloody money. He would bleed his vaults dry if that's what it cost to make sure she never had to so much as look at this bloody wanker ever again.

"Forever?" Draco clarified, his voice low and stern, letting the wizard know that part of the deal was not up for negotiation. When Charlie nodded, Draco released his hold on the bag, and he wrenched his arm free from Charlie's grip. "I'll make arrangements for the coin to be brought to you."

Charlie reached out, slowly pushing the bag back to the centre of his desk as he gave Draco a nod in agreement.

Draco spun on his heel, his heart pounding wildly beneath his chest as he moved to the door. Just as he pulled it open, Charlie called out to him.

"She'll come to me, Malfoy," Charlie told him from his slouched position against his desk. The hint of a predatory leer gleamed in his eyes. "She always does."

Draco took a slow breath, using it to centre his emotions before he yanked the door wide open. "We'll see, Weasley." Letting the words linger in the air between them, Draco left the office and quickly exited the shabby building. Once on the street, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew his small silver Weasley Wizard Wheezes mobile. Scrolling through his list of contacts as he made his way down the road, he found the name he was looking for and hastily pressed the green button before lifting the receiver to his ear. "Chrysanthemum. I need you to work with our contacts at Gringotts," he said crisply as he moved through the crowded street. "Charlie Weasley requires an additional payment, and I need it to be delivered by the end of the day."

Author's Note:

Alpha: Disenchantedglow
Beta: Ravenslight

I know I just updated, but I've been on a good writing kick so you're getting this next chapter early! Thank you all for your lovely reviews. They really do inspire me to keep writing this story.

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