A/N: Hello my darlings! Once again, thank you all so much for your reviews and follows, it's such an amazing feeling knowing that you guys are enjoying my writing.
 While I am quite a few chapters ahead in this story, as far as writing goes, I am starting a new job as of Monday and therefore will not have as much writing time. Because of this, I'm going to be cutting posts down to once a week instead of twice. Sorry guys, but I just don't want to hit a wall and leave you with nothing, better to drag out what's already there and give myself time.
Hope you enjoy today's chapter!
-Emma

"You should probably see a Healer," Draco suggested as they ate breakfast the next morning.

They'd stayed in her flat the night before, sharing the bed just like they had in Ibiza, as Hermione was scared to sleep alone. Draco had been more than happy when she'd asked. He hadn't exactly fancied going back to Blaise's and worrying about her all night.

"Now that you've cleaned out your system, you should have a check, just make sure everything's good," he reasoned.

"We're both just as qualified as a Healer," Hermione frowned, poking at her cereal. "I'm fine."

"Granger, you know we're not," he argued. "We're not properly trained, we can miss things."

"We haven't," she insisted stubbornly. "I take my potions every day, no matter what. I'm fine."

Draco gave her a disbelieving glare, but she ignored him, her eyes focussed solely on her remaining Cheerios. "What about that Healer Blaise keeps on call?" he suggested. "What's his name? Steven?"

"Simon," Hermione corrected quietly. "Simon Tamm."

"He's been treating you for a while," Draco nodded. "Why not just let him swing by?"

"Draco, just drop it!" she snapped, slamming her spoon down angrily and getting to her feet. "Okay? Just leave it alone!"

She stomped over to her bedroom and slammed the door shut, leaving Draco to wonder what the hell had just happened.

He gave her twenty minutes to cool off before following, needing nothing more than a quick 'Alohomora' to open the door. The lights were all off and the curtains drawn, and Hermione lay curled up in the middle of the bed, wrapped in her comforter.

"Go away." She muttered through the fabric, and he could hear that she'd been crying.

Draco refused, lighting the tip of his wand and setting it on the bedside table to give the room just a little light, before locating her head in the cocoon of blankets and laying down beside her.

He didn't say anything, didn't ask questions or lecture her about needing to see a Healer, he simply laid with his head next hers and waited for her to be ready. She would speak when she was- she always did.

Pulling back the comforter just a little, Draco exposed her eyes and tip of her nose, and raised an eyebrow as if to ask 'Really?'

"Fuck off," she muttered, though there was no venom in her tone. "Just let me cocoon."

"I'm not stopping you," he pointed out. "I'm just laying here. You did invite me to stay, you'll recall."

"What if I want to uninvite you?"

"Too late," he offered a wry smile. "Besides, you don't want to. You like me too much."

"I bet no one's ever said that before," Hermione snarked, the tiniest of twinkles in her eyes.

"Blaise will occasionally admit to it," Draco chuckled. "Usually when he's particularly wasted. You're the first one to admit it sober, though."

"I haven't admitted to anything," she scoffed. "If you'll recall, I told you to 'fuck off'."

"Yeah, but you didn't mean it," he shrugged.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but said nothing, and once again Draco waited.

When she began reciting random facts, he wasn't surprised. It seemed to be a sort of coping mechanism for her. She did it when she was upset, or had too much going on in her head, and it seemed to calm her. Draco didn't ask why, he simply let her fill his head with random information until she was ready to say whatever it was she wanted to say. Eventually, he knew she would get there.

"Did you know that in 1927, the U.S. government issued Santa Claus a pilot's license?"

"Well, they're American," he shrugged easily. "They nickname their cities after fruits."

Hermione smiled a little at this, nodding in agreement.

"There's a town in Nebraska that has a population of 1," she added. "It's just one woman, and she's the Mayor, bartender and Librarian."

"An interesting array of titles," Draco mused.

"I'd like to be a bartending librarian," Hermione shared. "I think I'd be rather good at it."

"You certainly couldn't be any worse than Goyle," he offered.

Again, she smiled in response, the comforter inching a little further from her face. "The fear of fear is called Phobiaphobia."

"You know, I could have figured that one out for myself," Draco frowned.

"Atychiphobia, fear of failure," Hermione recited, not seeming to have heard him this time. "The fear of doctors is called Iatrophobia. Atelephobia, fear of imperfection. Autophobia, fear of being alone."

"You're not alone," he assured her, but she kept going.

"Noctiphobia, fear of the night. Somniphobia, fear of sleep. Wiccaphobia, fear of witchcraft-"

"Hermione," Draco interrupted her, cupping her cheek against his palm and trying to get her to meet his eyes. "Granger, what's going on?"

She didn't answer him, simply closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. His hands were warm, and she was always so cold, she liked that he was warm.

"Hermione." He said her name again and she opened her eyes, one hand slipping free of her cocoon to hold onto his.

As she freed the limb, though, Draco caught a glimpse of what she wore underneath it and frowned. Before he could talk himself out of it, he asked the question he'd wanted to since that first night he'd sat with her in Blaise's living room. "Why do you wear that shirt when you're upset?"

A pained expression crossed her face, but she didn't pull away or try to hide from him again, so Draco pressed on.

"It's always the same one," he pointed out. "You wore it at Hogwarts too. Why that one?"

"When I was a baby I didn't like blankets or teddys to sleep with." She said quietly, surprising him, as he didn't think she would answer right away- if at all.

"Once, I wouldn't stop fussing in the car and my mum said it was because I was cold, but they didn't have any blankets because I didn't like them, so my dad took off his shirt…" She tugged the heavy plaid tighter around herself beneath the comforter, the hand that had been holding Draco's, slipping back into the blankets. "I slept with it all the time after that. Wouldn't sleep without it. My mum used to use it to swaddle me, and then when I was older I would cuddle with it. Something to do with recognizing my dad's scent, I suppose, thinking it was safe…"

She trailed off, regret clearly evident in her eyes.

"I wore through the first shirt when I was little, and so they got me another one, and then another one. This was the fourth. They gave it to me for Christmas fifth year… I thought it was sentimentality."

She let out a sniff of laughter and Draco frowned, not quite understanding why she was scoffing at the idea.

"They just didn't want to spend money on someone they couldn't wait to get rid of. I might as well have been a House Elf being given an old smock." She sniffled slightly and hid her face. "But I wear it anyways, stupid thing that I am."

"You're not stupid," Draco spoke up immediately, pulling the comforter from her face and looking her square in the eye. "You, Hermione Granger, are not stupid."

"I wear this shirt because it makes me feel safe," she argued sadly. "Because I think of my dad and for a few minutes, I feel better, but you know how much my dad cared about keeping me safe? When he remembered who I was, he tried to have me thrown in prison. He told the police that I was a menace to society, a ticking time bomb that could blow and kill them all at any minute. When he was interviewed by the Ministry officials disguised as Police, he told them I was a manipulative cunt and he was sorry that he hadn't drowned me in the closest river the day I was born. He wanted them to throw me in the closest prison, and let the inmates do with me as they pleased. My father didn't give two shits about my safety, and yet I can't stop wearing this fucking shirt, because somewhere in my mind I think it's going to change things. So yes, Draco, I am as stupid as stupid can be. An empty-headed bint with nothing going for her but the space between her legs."

As she went on, the anger in her chest grew stronger and stronger, only to come crashing down in a wave of empty sorrow. There were no tears this time, no angry, heaving sobs or screams, just a barren wasteland of empty silence, startled only when she got up from the bed and locked herself in the bathroom, unable to bear the pathetic look in Draco's eyes.

She had never wanted drugs more than she did in that moment. Sitting on her bathroom floor with her head in her hands, replaying what she'd just admitted to over and over in her mind, all she wanted in the entire world was something to make it all stop. She wanted to feel weightless and see the world in technicolour, or to be so completely baked out of her mind that it didn't matter what she'd said or that it had all been true. She didn't much care what kind of high it was, so long as it meant she didn't feel like this- like the empty, heartbroken, shattered mess of girl that she really was.

She was standing at Blaise's front door before she'd even realized that she'd apparated, so caught up in the need to make the pain stop that she hadn't been paying attention to anything else. Before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked, but even as she did, the arguments broke out in her head. That damned Old Hermione that had crawled out of the mental attic reared her rational, guilt-provoking head once more, quietly scolding her in that oh-so-caring way that she did.

You've been doing so well, though. It's just a moment, she reasoned. You're going to regret this before the drugs even hit you.

Junkie Hermione was doing her best to drown her out, though, playing a mantra of all the excellent nights they had had together, nights where she'd only felt the moments, and forgotten all the shit that was going on in her head. That was what she needed, to forget.

"Miss!" Mippy opened the door and greeted Hermione with a bright smile, ushering her inside quickly. "Mippy was missing Miss very much. We was worrying that you'd been hurt."

"I've been travelling." Hermione told the elf shortly, pulling her shirt tighter and crossing her arms to hide the fact that she was shaking. "Is Blaise in?"

"Master is being in the living room," Mippy nodded. "Miss can go right in."

Hermione gave her a nod of thanks and carried on, all the while trying to drown out the voices in her head.

What happened to that determination you had yesterday? You were so sure that you could kick this, you're just having a moment!

Listening to her inner monologue, Hermione wondered if this was how Harry and Ron had felt when she lectured them as children. Gods, she was an annoying swot! Why in Morgana's memory had they been friends with her?!

Because they needed you, her mind answered. And when they were done, they tossed you away. Just like everyone else. They weren't your friends. You were their pet, the dog that did their homework and whined a lot.

"Stop it!" Hermione hissed under her breath, hugging herself tighter.

Blaise was on his feet the second he saw her, rushing across the room to pull her into a hug, then fixing her with a severe glare. "Where the fuck have you been?!"

"Travelling," she repeated her story. "What have you got in?"

Blaise scoffed, looking mildly offended. "You're not getting a thing until you tell me what the fuck happened! You just disappeared into thin air- literally! It took me weeks to fix those wards!"

"I just needed some space," she tried to evade him, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't write or whatever, I was busy."

"You were wasted," he countered. "There's a difference. We were worried about you, Mi."

"Well, I'm fine," she shrugged, daring to look at his face and praying that her eyes wouldn't betray her. "Safe and sound, back home and disease free. Now, are you gonna help a girl out, or what?"

"Don't."

A deep, aristocratic voice spoke out behind them and Hermione visibly winced. Of course Draco had followed her here. He'd followed her around the entire fucking globe, of course he would follow her here.

"And you!" Blaise waved at his best friend demandingly. "What the fuck have you been doing? You're here one day, gone the next, nothing but vague letters filled with nothing to remember you by!"

Draco ignored him, his focus entirely on the shaking brunette between them. "What are you doing, Granger?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, her back turned to him, eyes on the floor. "Just let me be."

"No, I won't. What are you doing?"

"Hello?" Blaise waved his hands for attention, glaring between the two of them. "Does somebody want to tell me what's going on here and where the fuck you two have been?!"

They both ignored him.

"What are you doing?" Draco repeated his question, watching Hermione tense more and more. "Hermione-"

"What do you fucking think I'm doing?!" she snapped, turning to face him angrily.

"I think you're doing something you're going to regret," he replied calmly. "And I want to hear you say it."

"Fine, I'll regret it. Now, will you kindly, FUCK THE FUCK OFF!?" She screamed, angry tears building up behind her eyes.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," he challenged coolly. "What are you doing, Granger?"

Hermione's hands dropped to her sides in tight fists, her jaw clenched violently, and her eyes tightly shut.

"Just leave me alone," she ground out. "Please, for the love of God, leave me alone."

"No," Draco adamantly refused. "What are you doing?"

"Please." She was begging now, desperate for him to leave so that she could just find something to make it all stop. "Please."

"No," Draco repeated, his voice softening as he stepped towards her.

"Gods, just make it stop!" Hermione pleaded, her anger quickly crumbling to the wave of guilt and pain that seemed to emanate from her chest. "I just need it to stop!"

His arms surrounded her just as her legs gave out, pulling her into him and holding her tightly as she caved in. She could hear him muttering something to her, his face in her hair, reassuring her, but she couldn't distinguish the words. All she could hear was her desperate pleas for nothing, for the blackness that came with a good high.

She just wanted it to stop.

Draco waited for Hermione to cry herself out before he moved, picking her up with ease and carrying her over to the sofa so they could sit. She didn't make any sort of effort to move away from him, so he settled comfortably with her in his lap, his arms still around her and her head resting against his shoulder. She was muttering apologies to him, repeating the words over and over again as she did when she was hallucinating or having one of her dreams.

"Shh," Draco tried to quiet her, brushing her hair out her face and kissing her forehead. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize."

"You're angry," she shook her head. "I fucked up-"

"You didn't fuck up," he promised. "And I'm not angry, I'm proud of you."

"What the fuck do you have to be proud of?" She demanded, lifting her head to look at him, her face making it clear she thought he was nuts.

"Are you high right now?" Draco asked, his voice calm and quiet.

Hermione shook her head, casting her gaze to her hands in embarrassment once again, but he lifted her chin so she would look at him.

"That's why I'm proud of you," he smiled. "You know where Blaise keeps things, you didn't have to talk to him before you got something. You could have gone to any of your dealers and had something in seconds, but you didn't."

"I wanted to," she admitted shamefully.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Draco reasoned. "You've been hiding behind the highs for so long, of course you're going to want to go back to that. It's been your crutch for years. The point is that you fought back, you didn't let that part of your brain that thinks a good high is the answer win. That's why I'm proud of you."

As he spoke, Hermione gaped at him, absolutely dumbfounded. How could he think so much of her after witnessing everything she'd done. He'd picked her up out of gutters, literally, and yet he looked at her like she was the strongest person he'd ever seen. How could someone be proud of something like her?

You weren't always this, old Hermione spoke up. You used to be strong. He just believes that you will be again.

Throughout Draco and Hermione's standoff, Blaise stood to the side watching the pair in silent awe. In all the time he'd been friends with Hermione, all the nights she'd crawled into his bed- after nightmares and before- he'd never seen her so vulnerable or desperate, even during the worst of withdrawals. And beyond that, he'd never seen her accept help from anyone.

Now, as Draco challenged her over and over, he watched her façade shatter, watched the internal war she was fighting seep out into the air and fire upon her until she couldn't stand it anymore, but when she fell she seemed to know that he would catch her.

And he had. Seemingly without any thought at all, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and his face buried in her shoulder, quietly speaking into her ear as she fell apart.

Blaise watched as Hermione's hands moved from hanging limply at her sides to grip the front of Draco's shirt, anchoring herself to him, and he wondered how close the pair had really become since he'd last seen them.

What had changed to make her so attached and seemingly reliant on Draco? And what the hell had Draco done to get through to her?

His mind raced with all kinds of questions, but he also recognized when he wasn't wanted, and so gave them some space to talk.

When he walked into the kitchen, Daphne was stood making herself a cup of tea, an open box of biscuits sitting on the counter next to her and he helped himself to one.

"Did I just hear Hermione?" Daphne asked, smacking his hand away.

"You did," he nodded. "And why are you hitting me? They're my biscuits."

"They're communal biscuits," she argued. "And I want them. You're going to eat them all before I even get a chance to have one."

"I only took one!" Blaise started to argue but decided to simply let it go. There were more important things to care about right now. "Draco's back too."

"Well, he was stalking her around the globe. It makes sense that he would reappear when she did," Daphne reasoned, moving over to the kitchen table.

"Yeah, but it seems like they came back together," Blaise followed. "I mean, together together."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she just melted down in his arms after he talked her out of getting high, seemingly by deferring to her own thoughts."

"Excuse me," Daphne choked on her tea, eyes wide with shock.

"This is what I'm saying," Blaise waved his hands in an 'I told you so' way.

"Where are they now?" she asked, looking like she wanted to hunt them down and interrogate them immediately.

"In the living room. I thought I'd give them a minute, Mi's in a bad way."

"I mean, it sounded like it, but…" Daphne trailed off, a pensive look on her face. "Do you think she's sober?"

"It certainly seems like it," Blaise admitted.

"That's… that's…" Daphne just shook her head, unable to find the right words.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Exactly."

"What the fuck happened?" Daphne demanded, pushing the hair out of her face, still in shock.

"I was trying to find out, but she was demanding drugs and then she was yelling at him, and then she was having a breakdown. There wasn't a lot of time to get answers in between."

"Well we're going to damn well get some now!" Daphne decided. "Mippy!"

The house elf popped into the room beside them and turned to face the eldest Greengrass expectantly. "Miss is calling?"

"Yes, would you please get tea ready? We're going to be having a chat with Draco and Hermione, and I think we're going to need it."

"Of course," Mippy nodded genially and turned to the stove, setting the kettle to boil with a snap of her fingers.

"And bring biscuits, would you Mippy?" Blaise requested. "Daphne won't share hers."

"Master is having more than enough biscuits," Mippy scolded him lazily. "Miss is not needing to share."

"Good to know who's side you're on," Blaise grumbled at the elf, ignoring Daphne's victorious smile.

"Come on," she pulled his arm impatiently. "It's time we got some answers."

"Hermione!" Daphne smiled warmly as she entered the living room, leaning over to hug the witch still sat in Draco's lap. "You're back."

Hermione shrugged, surprised by the warm welcome. "I suppose," she mumbled.

"We missed you," Daphne assured her. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too," Blaise piped up. "And now that that's out of the way- WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

Hermione and Draco both flinched at his obnoxiously loud tone, disturbing the quiet they had been maintaining with all the subtlety of an American cowboy.

"Don't shout!" Daphne scolded the Italian, smacking the back of his head before sitting down in one of the armchairs across from the sofa. "Mippy's bringing tea, we were hoping you would tell us what's been going on with you."

Unlike Blaise, Daphne's soft, diplomatic tone seemed to calm Hermione somewhat, as she slipped off of Draco's lap to settle into his side. As soon as she moved, his arm came around her protectively, and Daphne narrowed her eyes. There was definitely something there.

"You're clean," Daphne started the conversation once everyone was settled. "You are, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded, her head down, focusing on the sleeves of her shirt.

"That's great, Mi," Daphne grinned. "We're really happy for you."

"Absolutely!" Blaise joined in immediately, bobbing his head up and down enthusiastically. "Why?"

Once again, Daphne reached over and smacked him, while Draco glared daggers at him.

"What?!" Blaise cried. "It's not an odd question."

"It's a rude question," Daphne pointed out.

"Why should I care about that? Mi and I have always been straight with each other," Blaise frowned at the witch in question, eyebrows raised. "Right?"

"Yeah," Hermione nodded once again, this time offering Blaise the slightest of glances.

"Right," he nodded firmly. "So, what happened?"

"Draco stalked me around the world and somewhere I eventually came to my senses," she shrugged. "I'm a fucking mess."

"You're not a mess," Daphne tried to comfort her. "You're just going through a rough patch."

"No, she's a mess," Blaise shook his head, riding the honesty train. "A completely certifiable one. I'm glad you're willing to admit it, that's a big step in the right direction."

"Since when do you know where the right direction is?" Hermione scoffed.

"There she is!" Blaise beamed at her, finally recognising the woman he'd been friends with for the last year. "I'll have you know that I am perfectly sane. I simply choose to fall in with you lot and your eccentricities because you're good for a laugh."

"You're a cunt," Draco rolled his eyes.

"That too," Blaise nodded agreeably.

"Either way, I'm trying not to be so messy anymore," Hermione shrugged. "So, no more drugs."

"That's amazing, Mi," Daphne congratulated her again. "We're here to help you however we can. Aren't we Blaise?"

"Absolutely," the Italian nodded eagerly. "And I think the most helpful thing I could do for you would be to relieve you of whatever remaining stock you might have. You know, to remove the temptation."

"How very kind of you," his best friend said flatly. "Unfortunately, we flushed it all yesterday."

Blaise looked at him like he'd completely lost his mind, earning a laugh from Hermione, much to everyone's surprise.

"It's not like they were the crown jewels, Blaise," she chuckled. "You can get them without me."

"Well sure, but that's gonna take so much more effort," he complained. "I'll have to go out!"

"It's good for you," Draco rolled his eyes.

Blaise didn't seem to agree with this, but he shrugged it off, choosing instead to ask what had happened to help Hermione see the need for a change.

"I had a really, really bad trip in Ibiza," she admitted grimly. "It… it hit me pretty hard."

The second that she seemed to become uncomfortable, Draco's arm tightened around her, stroking her arm reassuringly. Daphne noticed and raised an inquiring brow, but he only frowned at her sternly.

"Well, whatever it was, I'm just glad that you're doing better," she turned to Hermione. "You are doing better, aren't you? I mean, you seem better."

Hermione frowned. "This seems better?"

"Compared to three months ago?" Blaise reasoned. "Yeah, you seem a lot better. You were in a bad way, Mi."

Her face fell, eyes refusing to meet anyone else's, her focus once again on the sleeves of her shirt which she knotted and twisted in her hands.

"You look a lot better, though." He continued earnestly, not meaning to have made her upset. "Seriously."

"Told you," Draco whispered, poking her in the ribs.

Hermione simply stared at them in shock. How bad had she really been, if this was considered better?

"Hermione, this is the first time you've sat and talked for more than ten seconds at a time without a dose in your system," Daphne explained carefully. "It's great."

"Thanks," Hermione mumbled, still not meeting the other girl's eye. "Um, I think I should get going. Sorry about earlier." She got to her feet quickly and started heading for the floo room, not waiting for Draco to follow. As she went, Daphne jumped up and pulled her into another hug.

"I'm really glad you're back," she repeated quietly. "And I'm really happy that you're clean. Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

Hermione nodded awkwardly and pulled away, turning quickly and rushing from the room while Draco got up to follow.

"Seriously, mate," Blaise stopped him before he could get too far. "What's going on with you two?"

Draco shrugged. "We're friends, and she needs help, so that's what I'm doing."

"That's it?" Blaise looked sceptical, there was definitely more going on than he was saying.

"Yeah," Draco nodded. "Right now, that's it. She needs friends, people that she can trust, so right now that's what I am."

"And in the future?"

"The future is up to her," Draco shrugged again. "I'll see you later, alright?"

Blaise nodded, clapping him on the back. "Yeah, don't be a stranger."

Draco gave him another nod, then hurried after Hermione, leaving Blaise and Daphne to wonder just how that future might play out.