AN: Warning for a little more intense language than usual and mentions of self harm this chapter.
Chapter Eleven
My hands are wrapped around my head, palms against my ears. There's a constant roaring that won't go away and my fingernails are nearly clawing into my skull, my fingers so tense, they're nearly cramping. Part of me wants to feel blood.
If the blood is released, maybe the feelings will too.
No, that's utter nonsense.
Stop it, Hermione.
This isn't how you're supposed to do this, Hermione.
You have to be better than this, Hermione!
A strangled sob escapes my throat and I pray to Merlin that nobody has entered the lady's room since I ran in several minutes ago. How long has it been? Not too long, right?
I don't want to feel like this. I don't like these thoughts screaming at me. They're wrong. They're not how I'm supposed to think.
I'm not doing anything correctly.
I was too harsh on Harry. Why not tell him about my work? If I told him it was confidential, he wouldn't share it, right?
He'll hate me now and not want to keep being around me. I insulted him, oh no! Harry has been trying to help me for so long and I've just pushed him away!
Will he tell Ginny? What will he say? That I'm keeping secrets?
Ginny will be upset with me again. She'll ignore me again. She'll keep me away from Teddy and James again.
I can't handle that. I don't want to lose them!
No, Harry didn't take it personally. He understood and just said that it was annoying. He even laughed at the matter! Right? Right?!
Or was he laughing at me?
No, Harry would never laugh at another person. He never laughed at Luna or Neville!
What is wrong with me? I'm overthinking this. These are not okay thoughts. Stop it.
Tears are inching their way down my cheeks. I feel wet and gross and wrong.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
Wrong.
Stop.
Stop.
Wrong.
Stop.
Wrong.
Stop.
How stupid can I be?
My fork trails around the food on my plate, but I don't even notice if I've eaten any of my dinner or not. I feel so empty in such the wrong way.
I had a mental breakdown over a trivial little conversation with my best friend. It was uncalled for, really.
I thought I was better.
I guess I'm not.
Maybe I put too much on my plate.
Maybe I'm not meant to work at full capacity anymore.
I'm just so excited that I can help marginalized people, I don't want to slow down. The more I can do, the faster these poor witches and wizards can receive their medication and they can live completely normal lives!
It's not too much to ask of myself.
Or it wasn't…before.
Am I just broken now? Can I not be the Hermione Granger I was before? Am I even still Hermione Granger at all? Just the idea is so frustrating, I don't know what to do.
The logical part of me, the part that remembers what Malfoy has been trying to teach me, reminds me that I am still in recovery. That the road to full mental health is long and hard and full of hiccups.
But I was better.
I don't want to end up like before.
I want to keep working.
I want to work better than I have been. And I can't! And that's what is so frustrating.
And that's when the emotional part of myself comes in and yells at me for being so weak. For relying on somebody, anybody else, to take care of myself and my work. I don't care that it's somebody whose job it is and who I actually pay to help me. It's not me. It's not me working.
And he wants to meet tomorrow to go over ideas.
I'm screwed.
Malfoy will know something is wrong and he'll ask me, and it'll turn into an impromptu therapy session when we're supposed to be work colleagues.
This can't work out.
I have to either quit or tell him to leave the project.
It's a conflict of interest, right?
Or do I stop seeing Malfoy as my Therapy Healer?
It would make the most sense. He holds too much power over my emotional wellbeing to be a neutral party in this endeavor. Right?
I despise that I am second guessing myself at every turn. This isn't appropriate. I'll have to talk to Malfoy tomorrow and see what he says.
I don't like depending on somebody like this. It should be my decision. But there are no books to help me with this predicament—what to do when your therapist becomes your work partner? It just doesn't happen.
Great, now I'm obsessing over something completely different than my flipping emotional turmoil from freaking out over nothing and crying in my office restroom.
Maybe a warm bath and an early night will just restart me for tomorrow morning.
I dump my barely-eaten dinner in the trash, pack up the leftovers, and head off to bed to hopefully clear my mind.
It doesn't work, obviously.
"Alright, as a colleague, I have every right to ask—what's wrong?"
Malfoy has barely set his books and rolls of parchment down in the St. Mungo's conference room he had procured for today's meeting and already he's able to tell I'm off. Great.
Instead of answering, I retort, "As a colleague, you are supposed to ask if I am okay. I will then answer I am fine. And then we can get to work."
"And yet I bypassed that inane answer by asking a more direct question—which you are, of course, evading." He smirks across the table at me.
I shrug. "Nothing is wrong. Let's get to work."
Malfoy's jaw clenches just slightly in annoyance, but I can see concern in his eyes. It disturbs me; it looks out of place.
He doesn't push the matter though, knowing full well he can harass me all he wants next week at our therapy session. Instead, he unfurls a roll of parchment that I can see is filled with spidery, cramped handwriting. I know it is his, but it surprises me that it's not perfect and elegant like his outward demeanor. Then again, his regular handwriting might as well be for all I know, and this is his note-taking writing.
I am overanalyzing. I take a slow breath and pay attention to what he has to say.
We start with what Magical Law already has to say about supplying a regular dosage of a medication to people—how long can it be provided, if they need a Healer's approval or prescription and how long that would last for, if this potion counts as falling under these laws because it will be brewed and provided on St. Mungo's property or if it falls only into Malfoy's domain in his new Therapy Healer branch.
In the end, we come to the—obnoxious—conclusion that new laws must be made to be able to answer these questions thoroughly. We are in new territory that was partially created by Malfoy himself.
We also discuss what steps would need to be taken for establishing the unemployment office at the Ministry, and who to talk to. A lot of hands will need to be greased and neither one of us is in favorable positions for that. Malfoy begrudgingly admits that he has burned a lot of bridges to get to where he is today, and because of his dark past. Many Ministry officials just plain don't like me because of my Magical Law work.
"I find this utterly hilarious," Malfoy says with a smile. "I have all the money in the world, and you are the smartest member of the adored 'Golden Trio,'" he uses inane air quotes to emphasize it. "And yet we can't even solve our own problems without the help of Harry Potter."
"People love him at the Ministry," I shrug. "He can do no wrong. Already leagues ahead in his career than I probably ever will be—even," I say to stop him from interrupting, "even with this entire endeavor. I can create an entire new office at the Ministry and provide jobs for hundreds, if not thousands, of disenfranchised wizards and witches; I can give free Wolfsbane potion to all those in need without putting institutions in debt. But I will probably never rise to the top of even the Magical Law offices, let alone anywhere else."
We are both silent for a long stretch of time. I can hear one of the parchment rolls curling back in on itself.
Finally, Malfoy breathes I sigh. "We're like two peas in a pod, aren't we?"
I can't help but laugh at that.
Here I was, finally opening up despite blocking out Malfoy's attempts earlier, and he compares my plights to himself. And in such an inane Muggle phrase to boot!
"What?" he demands. "I was sympathizing with you!"
I shake my head, unable to word my feelings through my soft laughter.
"I was just saying that neither of us can get what we want despite the world thinking we have all these advantages. You're right—your views are too controversial for many Ministry officials to want to promote you. And it's not as if my life is going anywhere right now either."
"Oh, you're getting divorced. It's not that big a deal. Wasn't it arranged anyway?" I blurt out. Wrong move. Wrong. Wrong, Hermione. Take it back.
Malfoy's eyebrows rocket straight to his hairline.
"Wait," I say, "I didn't mean that. Divorce with Muggles is—"
"First of all," he finally grits out, "I am not getting divorced. I am officially divorced. I am a single divorcee. The Prophet will be running a gossip article any day now to prove it." His eyes are searing into me. "Second, just because we didn't marry for your ever-important love doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Astoria was my friend. You of all people know this hasn't been an easy process for me. I am losing a lot more than people realize."
My mind flashes through what that last Daily Prophet article speculated—that Malfoy might be losing his inheritance without an heir, or that Astoria really is pregnant with someone else's child. Utter trash, but what if?
"What are you losing, then, Malfoy? Enlighten me. You've been so secretive about this, but you expect me to trust you unfailingly."
The side of his mouth quirks in a pseudo-smirk. "You're supposed to trust me and tell me everything about your life during our sessions because that is literally my job. That you pay me for."
"You asked me just a little while ago what's wrong and expected me to answer as colleagues. How am I supposed to trust you as a colleague when you won't trust me?" I finally have a one up on him. I am winning.
He cocks his head to the side. "Fine," he says, barely any time to think. "Truth for truth. As colleagues. You tell me what is bothering you today and I will tell you about what's bothering me today."
"No." He raises an eyebrow. "No, you will not tell me what's bothering you today because how am I supposed to know if you will share something secret or not. You can't twist your words to favor yourself around me, you know better. You tell me about your divorce, and I will tell you what's wrong. Deal?"
Now he takes the time to think. What feels like a full minute later, Malfoy sticks his hand across the table for me to shake. "Deal."
I shake his hand and then contemplate how to phrase my problems.
"I had a small disagreement with Harry yesterday that my mentality took out of proportion. I've been trying to hold myself together since because I don't want a repeat of last year." I hope that is enough. He'll get the full story next week, I know. But vague ideas and terms work well for a "colleague."
His eyebrows crease together in concern. I can tell he is doing everything he can not to pry further than what I have willingly offered. It's not his place right now and I am far from comfortable with that.
He nods his head slowly, taking in what I've told him and trying hard to word his own problems well.
"The divorce was not my idea. It was not Astoria's, despite how it's probably for the best for her. My dad practically forced it…and my mother is not happy with me right now either." That gets to me. I know how much he cares about his mother and how much his mother will sacrifice for him—she lied to Voldemort's face to save his life.
He shakes his head. "I don't want to lose Astoria. She has been my only friend for so long, but not any longer."
"What happened?" I ask softly.
"I fucked up," Malfoy says simply. "I fucked up years ago, I continued to fuck up, and it finally caught up with me and fucked me over."
Such strong language…
I don't know what he did or has been doing, but I know it has destroyed him. I have seen glimpses of this part of Malfoy. This has been the first solid bit of information he has given me. And it's still barely anything!
Malfoy closes his eyes and breathes for a minute. I silently wait for him to finish.
Instead of being able to talk further, he pulls out a pocket watch and promptly clicks it shut again. "Well, I need to get back to the office. I'll let you know what I can find on the growth cycles in close quarters and what Longbottom is able to research. You start working with Potter and on those new laws you'll need to write up. I'll see you next Tuesday, my office."
And then he leaves.
Just like that.
I fucked up.
Next Tuesday, Malfoy's office. Like clockwork, an assistant calls me in from the waiting room. She smiles at me.
"I love how your hair curls like that. No potion or spell I try gives me those kinds of curls. Not even this tonic my cousin gave me that supposedly works for all the French witches." She plays with a strand of her long, wavy hair.
Why are people still so fixated with my hair? They were obsessed when it was long and out of control bushy, and they obsessed when it was shaven clean off, and now they're obsessing when it's a few inches and still manageably curly. I can't win. Maybe I'll magically—or non-magically—straighten it. There's a chemical treatment popular with Muggles, isn't there? If it's straight, maybe nobody would care.
No, then people who know me for my bushy hair will freak and not stop talking about it.
Conclusion: I can't win.
Malfoy greets me with his usual smirk as he gestures for me to sit down. The door closes behind me, but I don't turn to see if it's magic or the assistant, like it matters anymore to know.
I take my seat on the couch and itch to hold one of the pillows. No, Hermione, you have come so far. You do not need to fiddle with a bloody pillow like a child.
Malfoy leans forward and asks, "So, how have you been these past two weeks?"
My eyes narrow. He's pretending like we didn't even have that conversation last week. Is this some sort of tactic to get me to reveal more? Or is it…
It's because he really is trying to separate our private and professional lives. It's respect over the fact that I only spoke with him as a colleague. I don't know how to take this information. Malfoy has shown me nothing but respect in the past year, despite all the motives I give him not to. It's almost unfair. Like he can just redeem himself from all his past faults.
I don't want to forgive him.
But I already told him I respect him and the man he has become.
I'm just so confused.
Either way, I take a deep breath, and tell him all about my life from the past two weeks. Including my take on his intervention with my work.
"I keep thinking that it's all a dream and can be taken from me at any moment. I have spent the years since the war crawling my way up to my position, only for half my office to hate me because I don't want to follow the rules, because I only got my job in the first place because of my name and my friends. My boss can always give me a different job to work on, pass on this whole project onto somebody else on a whim. Like he did with the centaur bull…"
Malfoy interjects, "If you haven't had any other hiccups or demotions in your career so far, what makes you think that they will start now?"
"I…I don't know," I stutter out. "It's just…a thought in the back of my mind all the time, especially recently."
Malfoy talks me through my rationale and how to counter these thoughts. He makes it sound so simple; I hate it. Like it is easy for him and he knows it's hard for me to work through these thoughts, but he still expects me to do as well as him in understanding them.
It's because I'm the bright one. I'm the one who can learn anything at the drop of a hat.
"We'll work more on this next session," he says finally. "Practice makes perfect, after all."
"I've been here a year, how am I not already perfect at it?" I mutter.
He hears me.
But he only smiles sadly and asks, "What else has been bothering you? You seemed agitated coming in earlier."
Right. He wants to know about what was bothering me last week in particular, doesn't he?
I shake my head slowly in defeat. "I had a breakdown last week." I sigh. He nods for me to continue. "I'm better. I know I'm better. I've been trying so hard to be normal again and then I take a small fight out of proportion and break down completely. I don't want to go back to how I was last year, I can't!"
"So, you had a small relapse? What was the fight about?"
I don't want to relapse. I don't like the sound. It makes me sound like I'm a recovering druggie.
"Harry wanted to know what I was working on, but because it's in conjunction with St. Mungo's, Hogwarts, and several other Ministry offices, I can't share the details until it's finalized. He got upset that I was so curt with him. I mean, he understood and didn't push. But I know he was still hurt. And then my mind kept racing what if he was mad but didn't want to say anything or what if it meant that I didn't trust him or what if he told Ginny I was keeping secrets?"
Malfoy leans back in his chair. "It sounds like you're catastrophizing."
"Oo, such a big word…" I mumble under my breath.
He narrows his eyes. Why am I making such a fool of myself today? Why am I being so sarcastic in front of him? "Why don't we focus on the event for a moment? Hmm?"
"Fine, okay."
"Harry asked about your work?"
"Yes, he came to my desk to check in with me. He does that pretty often…"
"Right," he nods along. "Do you appreciate him checking on you? And do you perceive it checking when it's really just wanting to say hi to a friend?"
I take a moment to think. "I don't think he thinks of it as checking on me. But it feels that way now…"
"Did he do this before?"
Another pause. "Yeah…oftentimes with Ron too before we broke up. So, I guess that means he just likes the routine of saying hi to me, right?"
"You're friends; he cares about you; he wants to see how you're doing—as friends, not because of concern for your mental health."
"How can you be so sure?" I question.
Malfoy shrugs. It makes him look more snobby than usual. "Because it's been almost a year since your incident. Harry seems like that man who would start to forget about those details and just want to be near you—like a dog."
"I want to be insulted that you just called my best friend a dog, but I honestly cannot find a fault in that description." I hate him so much.
He smirks again. "Alright," he continues. "You didn't answer my other question: do you appreciate Harry coming to 'check in on you,' so you say?"
"I don't…I don't hate it. I like talking with him when I can…I just don't want him to be worried enough about me to check that I'm okay. I'm fine."
Malfoy nods at my answer and moves on. "And Harry asked about your work, and you said…?" he prompts.
"I said it was confidential because it didn't concern the Auror department. Which is really rare for me to say. Usually I'm too excited not to share, or too displeased not to rant. I'm just so scared this isn't going to work out, so the less people excited about it, the better. And it's actually confidential."
Back and forth, the two of us dissect the scene and my thought process. And then my short episode in the lady's room…And then my thought process from that evening at home.
Finally, Malfoy sits back again, hands steepled at his lips.
"I think you're right," he sighs out at last.
"About which part?" My mind races.
"About me being both your Therapy Healer and your work colleague. It's becoming a conflict of interest. I was very unprofessional last week, I know. I didn't want to mention it today because, again, trying to keep these parts of our lives separate, but I think now that you've expressed your thoughts…I don't have much of a choice."
"So…what? Are you taking yourself off the Wolfsbane project? You can't do that! Your department is working so closely with…"
He's shaking his head no.
"I don't think you're ready to quit therapy altogether. You still should have somebody to talk to and work through your thought patterns. I don't want to just give you worksheets and hope you're filling them out without somebody to help."
Now I'm shaking my head. "Mm-mm."
He continues, "I'm going to recommend you see one of my other staff Therapy Healers. He was my first apprentice and is completely qualified. You have nothing to worry about. If you'd like, we can have a joint session so you can get a feel for him while I'm still there to give a more familiar environment."
"I don't know…that sounds…I don't want to change…"
"I understand. But you just said it yourself, I can't easily take myself off the Wolfsbane project. And it's becoming increasingly difficult for the two of us to keep our lives completely separate and professional. I don't want to put that strain on you any longer."
And yet he's been the one pushing the most, straining me in that direction. Malfoy wanted us to be friends. Malfoy keeps asking personal questions. Malfoy has been budging into my area at work. It's always been Malfoy. And now he's pushing me away.
No…there has to be something more. He wants us to be friends still, but he wants the doctor/patient element gone so that it can be safe and healthy.
I am starting to understand. But I don't want to.
I don't want to be friends with Malfoy.
Just because we have talked about my Hogwarts years in disturbing detail doesn't mean I can forgive him for his bullying outside of this office.
Just because I have laid my soul bare for him doesn't mean I'm willing to…I don't even know anymore, trust him?
He's not my friend.
He's barely a colleague.
But I don't want to argue anymore.
I don't want to be pushed in so many directions by one stupid man anymore.
I just want to give in for once.
I nod slowly. "Okay, let's…let's see if that works."
Malfoy genuinely smiles and stands. He reaches a hand out to help me up and then leads me to the front desk to discuss making the new appointment. The assistant at the desk looks concerned but doesn't say anything, keeping the conversation professional.
And then, in another confusing act of amiability, Malfoy walks me down the long hall to the elevator. He doesn't force any small talk, and it doesn't feel as awkward as our previous conversation would make it seem. And for that reason, it makes me all the more mentally uncomfortable.
"I'll see you next week at your office, correct?" he asks once the elevator dings on the floor.
"Right, yes. You…you better have that research…" I try to joke.
He smiles smugly and responds, "I already have it, Granger. What about your work?"
My eyes narrow at the challenge. "I'll give you one guess."
The elevator doors close on his "challenge accepted" face.
I don't understand our relationship anymore. I hate it.
AN: Thank you for your patience. I was out of town for work for a while and then just...didn't have the motivation to write. (You all understand that, damn mental illnesses.)
As you can see, I've decided to move the plot way along, with Malfoy moving to pull himself away from Hermione professionally. Obviously, you guys have been looking forward to this because it brings the two one step closer to actually having...well at least a friendship now. You're also getting a few more glimpses into Malfoy's personal life, which I know you're just dying to completely understand. You will soon enough, I swear! He's just a very private man...
Anyway, you know the drill: review, favorite, follow. Please let me know what you think, give me your guesses, constructive criticisms, anything! I hope I'm doing my fellow neuro-atypicals justice with our poor Hermione.
(This story is cross-posted to AO3.)