A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I had it all ready to go and then as I was giving it a final read through realized that is was ALL wrong. Hopefully you like it (well, I feel like you all might be a little upset with me, but emotion is emotion, so...) Anyways, as always thank you all for your lovely comments and favourites and such. I love hearing from you, and I so appreciate your thoughts on the story. I've also found some new inspiration, you might say, and as I just got a comment this week remarking on how much they enjoyed the music I mentioned I thought I would share some more with you. I'm actually considering going old school 2000s and putting together a moodboard playlist on Tumblr or something, feel free to let me know if you'd be interested in that. Anyways, I've recently discovered a group called Alexander Jean and I am fully obsessed. Whiskey and Morphine has been providing me with all kinds of inspiration, as has Waiting For You, so I fully recommend giving them a listen because they're amazing. Anyways, enough of my babbling, on with the story :) Love you guys!
Draco tossed the morning edition of the Daily Prophet onto the counter, emblazoned across the front page of which was a full colour, moving picture of Harry Potter punching his best friend in the jaw, while the fallen golden girl watched, clinging to Draco Malfoy.
"You really did a number on her, you know that?" He muttered, glaring down at it.
He wasn't sure who he was talking to, be it the Weasel, Merlin, Salazar Slytherin or whatever muggle God Hermione tended to curse, all he knew was that he wanted to find that mythical figure that was pulling the strings and wring them by the neck. Draco leaned back against the counter and closed is eyes, tilting his head up to the ceiling and sighing deeply.
The night before had turned into a disaster. He'd thought that it would be good for her, showing her all the people that she had saved instead of letting her ruminate on the ones that had been lost. He should have known Weasley would be there and that he would make a scene. Hermione had said it, she'd tried to tell him, but he hadn't listened.
He'd known the moment Weasley walked in, not because of the flurry of activity around him, but because of the way Hermione had tensed in his arms. Only seconds before she'd been kissing him, telling him that he was the reason she was starting to believe that something good might have come from her sacrifices, and then he walked in and she'd turned back into the scared junkie he'd found six months before. He'd tried to reassure her, told her to stand tall and not let Weasley get the better of her, she was stronger than that. He still believed that, the only problem was that she didn't.
Looking at her ex, she'd convinced herself that she was still the war torn girl she was the last time he'd tried to break her. She didn't realize how strong she had become since then and her instincts had told her to run.
Just this once, Draco wished he'd listened. He'd known that the redheaded twit wouldn't be able to stay away, wouldn't be able to stop himself from coming over and pressing her buttons, but he hadn't expected him to go straight for the kill.
When Hermione had stood up for him, he'd thought for a moment that she might be realizing that she could fight back, that she was bigger than the tiny excuse of a man in front of her. When Weasley had bit back and attacked her though, she had fallen silent and he knew that she was listening to that voice in her head that told her he was right. For once, though, that didn't matter to him. What did matter, were the vile atrocities Weasley was hurling at her. It took all the self-control he'd ever possessed not to murder the man right there, but he'd held it together. He'd done it for Hermione, knowing that if he threw the first punch she would pull back into her tiny, single person bubble of safety, and it would take him months to get back in. So instead, he'd pulled her close and ordered Weasley to be quiet… until he'd grabbed her.
Draco had seen red in that moment, unable to speak for fear that an Unforgivable might pass through his lips and he'd lose her forever to a life in Azkaban. The fear in her eyes had been enough to still his anger, bringing an eerie calm over him as he stepped into Weasley and made it perfectly clear what would happen if he didn't get his hands off of her.
And then she'd fallen into his arms, and Harry Potter had sprung out of nowhere and knocked his best friend square in the jaw.
The press were having a field day, snapping pictures and screaming questions, crowding around the group to create an impenetrable wall of lights and sound. Hermione clung to his arm in shock and fear, babbling incoherently about Harry hitting someone and the flashing bulbs being too bright.
When the Headmistress had swept into view, smacking the reporters back authoritatively and taking control of the situation, Draco couldn't help but fall in love with her the tiniest bit. She was like a Patronus shining through the fogs of Azkaban, a beacon of safety and light.
"Mr. Potter!" she'd shouted. "What are you doing, and why is Mr. Weasley on the ground?"
"He went after Hermione!" Harry defended himself as his girlfriend studied the damage he'd done to his hand.
"I see," McGonagall pursed her lips at the prostrate Weasley. "Well, you both need to go and see Madam Pomfrey immediately. I trust you remember the way?"
"Perfectly," Harry sighed. "But I don't think Ron's going to be walking anytime soon."
"No," she hummed blandly, studying her former student. "I suppose not- ah Mr. Weasley!" she smiled warmly at an approaching redhead, this one with a number of scars across his face. "Would you be so kind as to escort your brother to the hospital wing? He seems to have had a bit of an accident."
"Well, he can be rather clumsy," the new Weasley shrugged. "You alright, Pot- Hermione?"
He'd turned and caught sight of the witch huddled beside Draco, still talking a mile a minute about absolutely nothing, his eyes widening in surprise.
"What are you doing here? Where the hell have you been?! Are you alright?" He took a step towards her, hand outstretched, but Hermione yelped in fear and cowered further into Draco's side, using his body as a shield.
"The hospital wing, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall reminded him curtly. "There will be time for socializing later. Come along."
She shot a worried look towards Draco, one eyebrow raised in question, then before her could answer turned on her heel and began leading the processional of wounded back through the reporters and cameras.
While they were distracted, Blaise had slipped his way through with a large cloak and flung it over Hermione, effectively hiding her face until they were able to get across the ballroom and to the closest fireplace connected to the floo network.
Back at her flat, Hermione had fallen silent. She slowly and methodically undressed and took down her hair, then sat in front of her mirror and removed her make-up the muggle way, scrubbing her face until it was raw. When she'd finished that, she'd crawled into bed and promptly fallen asleep.
Draco had not slept, sitting up most of the night watching her, waiting for the nightmares to come or the memories to resurface. Neither of those things occurred, however, and now here they were the next morning. Hermione hadn't said a word about it, refused to even acknowledge what had happened, locked in her bedroom…. Yeah, going to the Memorial was probably a pretty bad idea.
For the thousandth time in the last 12 hours, Hermione cursed herself. How could she have been so stupid as to believe that going to the Memorial Ball would be good?! Of all the stupid things she had done since the war, this was most definitely the worst. She'd known that before it happened, but she'd let Draco convince her.
He was trying to help, the kinder of the voices in her head spoke up. And he did. Remember?
It was true, for just a minute, she had seen things the way he did- seen herself the way he did. For a minute, she hadn't been a recovering addict with a billion and one emotional problems, she'd just been a girl who liked a boy and really wanted to kiss him- and she had. She had told him exactly what she meant and what she wanted, and then she'd kissed him and he'd kissed her back. She might have even kissed him again… but then Ron showed up and everything had gone wrong.
She didn't care what he said about her, not really, it wasn't the first time she'd heard any of it. What mattered was when he'd started going after Draco. The man who had done so much for her- the man who'd saved her- she couldn't let Ron talk about him like that. She'd had to say something, it had been burning in her chest, but then she'd let it out and made everything a thousand times worse.
And then he'd put his arm around her and she'd frozen. It had all come rushing back in that moment- the fights, the snarky insults, the snide remarks, the constant putting him first without a thought for herself. And when he'd whispered in her ear about getting out of there, she'd almost agreed. She'd almost let him win, again.
Uphold tradition, he'd whispered.
Tradition, the voice in her head sneered. You want tradition, you should have done a few hits before you left.
Thinking about the kinds of traditions he'd wanted, she felt bile rise in her throat. He'd used her, over and over and over, used her mind, her emotions, her body. She'd done everything for him, and he'd left her with nothing, and now that she was finally on her way to being okay, he was there to take it all away- and she'd almost let him. Despite how far she'd come, that voice in her head still told her to him take it. It's not like you haven't done it before, just give him what he wants and be done with it.
And she almost had… but Draco. For the thousandth time, Draco had come to her rescue, pulling her out of the mess she'd gotten herself into yet again.
You're fucking lost without him, the voice mocked her. Honestly, all that bullshit about taking care of yourself and being better off on your own? You're pathetic.
Yes, I am well-fucking-aware, Hermione snarled back. Would you please just shut up!?
You should have just left with Ron and been done with it, it carried on. That would've gotten rid of him in a hurry.
It would have killed him, she countered.
All the better, he wouldn't come back.
"GODDAMMIT!" Hermione roared, picking up the closest item and chucking it at the wall. Unfortunately the closest thing was a sweater, so it wasn't nearly as cathartic as she'd hoped. Instead, it only managed to make her more angry and restless. She was tired of feeling like this, tired of feeling like her entire body was crumbling from the inside out. Without taking another second to think about it, she grabbed her jumper and yanked it over her head, before snatching her bag off the floor and storming past him.
"Hermione?" Draco frowned as she threw the door open and stormed out, making her first appearance all day.
"I'm going out!" She snapped, not bothering to look at him as she wrenched the door open.
"You're not wearing shoes!"
Hermione screeched in exasperation and violently summoned a pair of trainers, yanking them on her feet as she stormed through the door, ignoring Draco's request to know where she was going. She couldn't have answered him anyways, too angry to even think about a destination. All she knew was that if she stayed in that flat any longer, she was going to implode and so she walked.
She walked out the door, down the stairs and out onto the street, each step angrier than the last, leading her in no particular direction besides 'Away'.
It went against every single one of his instincts, but Draco let her leave. He didn't even cast a tracking spell on her, though he wished that he had, and when Potter showed up and asked where she was, he didn't panic when answering that he didn't know. She needed space, that much was obvious, and so he was giving it to her. He was trusting her, just as she did him.
"Are you insane?!" Harry demanded angrily. "What the hell are you thinking letting her wander off after something like that?! You know what she's going to do!"
"No I don't," Draco responded calmly. "And neither do you, and we never will if we follow her everywhere. We have to trust her."
"Fuck that!" Harry scoffed. "We have to find her before she gets herself murdered in an alley!"
"She's not going to get herself murdered," Draco ground his teeth in annoyance. "She's upset, she's not an idiot."
"You have lost your fucking mind, Malfoy!" Harry continued to rant. "She's a danger to herself, we both know it! What the hell has you suddenly convinced that she's cured?!"
"Potter, I'm not arguing with you about this," Draco seethed. "I'm giving her space, and you better fucking do the same. And speaking of people losing their minds, what the fuck were you thinking last night?!"
"I was thinking that I wasn't going to let Ron slag her off like that again," Harry defended himself angrily. "What the fuck were you doing?!"
"Being the bigger fucking person!" Draco shouted back, stepping into Potter and shoving him angrily. "You think hitting him was the answer?! She was fucking terrified, and all you did was make it worse!"
"At least I shut him up!" Harry shoved back. "What the fuck were you doing?! You didn't say a fucking word!"
"Because I wasn't about to get into a fight with someone who has fewer braincells than a Flobberworm!" Draco scoffed. "He wouldn't have listened anyways. The only thing I was doing was getting her the hell away from that bastard. If you'd kept your fucking temper in line for once, everything would have been fine!"
"He was calling her a slag!"
"I KNOW!" Draco roared. "Don't you think I heard him?! I heard every fucking word, and I saw the look in Hermione's eyes when she started to believe him!"
"That's my point," Harry argued. "She believes him when he says that awful shit about her, so why were you letting him say it?!"
"Because I'm not his fucking puppet-master!" Draco shot back. "And I knew that hitting him wouldn't help things!"
"It shut him up!"
"And what do you think it did to Hermione?!" he roared. "Do you think for a second that she's thankful you did it?!"
"I don't give a damn if she is," Harry cried. "What I care is that he might actually think twice before going after her again."
"Oh sure, that's going to happen," Draco agreed sarcastically. "Because your dunderhead of a best friend has never acted petty and angry before, never run his mouth off even though he knew it would get him a knock to the teeth."
"He is not my best friend," Harry snarled back. "He hasn't been my best friend since the first time he threatened to lay a hand on her."
"Well at least you did one thing right," Draco rolled his eyes.
"Hey, you don't get to judge me!" Harry snapped. "You just got here, you don't get to tell me how this works, I've been here for all of it, I know!"
"You haven't been here in a long time, Potter!" Draco retorted. "And that's not your fault, you tried, but the fuck you know! You don't know a damn thing!"
As their tempers continued to rise, Draco stopped listening to what Potter was saying and simply shouted over him, repeating over and over how stupid he was for hitting the Weasel in front of Hermione. He just couldn't understand why Potter wasn't getting it- she had just learned that her parents abused her, he couldn't even think about how many men must have put their hands on her when she was high, and aside from all that, there was the fact that Weasley had tried to more than once. She flinched at loud doors on a good day, what made Potter think that watching him punch her ex out would leave her completely unaffected?
"I couldn't just let him go after her like that!" Harry continued insisting. "He needed to be put in his place!"
"She needed you to be on her side!"
"Where the hell do you think I was?!" Harry roared. "Do you think I was punching Ron out for him?!"
"I think you were thinking about yourself, instead of thinking about your friend," Draco snapped. "She needed you not to make a scene, she needed you to be calm, and you didn't do that! You thought about yourself and how you felt, and you acted on that instead of thinking about her!"
Hermione made it twelve blocks before she ran out of breath, nearly crashing into a bus shelter wall when she didn't put her hands up fast enough. Breathing heavily, she let her head drop between her shoulders as she tried to slow her heart rate. Unfortunately, her heart rate had very little to do with physical exertion, and quite a lot to do with the fact that her mind was running a million miles a minute.
She just needed it to slow down, she needed everything to slow down, just for a second- just long enough to organize a coherent train of thought.
"You alright there, luv?" A man spoke up beside her, making Hermione flinch. Noting her reaction, he took a step back and offered an apology, removing his hat so that she could see his face. "Didn't mean to startle you. Are you alright?"
"Fine," Hermione nodded sharply, forcing a smile onto her face. "Fine, thank you."
The man nodded warmly, replacing his hat and taking a seat in the shelter, though she could tell that he was peeking at her from the corner of his eye.
Move, the voice in her head urged her, the feeling of the man's eyes on her making her uneasy. Turning away from him, she scanned the street for somewhere to go- anywhere. When her eyes fell upon the pub sign, it was like lightning had struck her, fizzling her spine and jolting her feet into moving.
She was seated at the bar before she even realized it, her arm going up to flag the bartender of its own volition.
"Whiskey." She answered his question without hearing it, her hand reaching for the shot glass that he set in front of her and lifting it to her lips without question. As the alcohol slid down her throat, she prayed for the release that it had always promised her, prayed for the thoughts to slow to a drunken place.
She didn't know how many times the glass was emptied and filled again before things started to slow, but it had to be a significant amount judging by the way the room seemed to be spinning.
"Can I get you some food to go with that?" the bartender asked, filling her glass again.
"I'm fine," Hermione answered flatly.
"You seem like you're drinking for a reason," he continued. "Wanna talk about it?"
"No."
"Alright," he shrugged. "I'll be around though, if you change your mind."
"Wonderful," Hermione snarled. "I'll keep that in mind in case of an aneurysm."
The bartender took no note of her tone, simply refilled her glass and gave her another smile.
"Don't wander off with that," Hermione nodded to the bottle in his hand.
"Like me to leave the bottle, would ya?" he smirked. "If you've got cash, it's yours."
She didn't think twice before fishing out her credit card and slapping it down on the counter, reaching out to take the bottle in exchange.
What the hell are you doing? Her mind wandered as she poured herself another drink, finally running at a pace that she could handle.
Running, she answered herself. It's what we know how to do.
"I don't want to run from him," she muttered quietly. "I don't want to run anymore."
So what the hell are you doing here?
She'd barely had the time to think the question before it was voiced behind her by a gravelly blonde.
"It must be my lucky day," Pansy continued cheekily. "Hermione Granger in the flesh, and off the wagon once again."
Hermione didn't bother to answer, hoping that if she ignored her long enough she might disappear. Maybe she's not even here… she mused happily. A drunken illusion…
I think we can come up with better illusions than that, her mind scoffed.
"Give me that." Pansy snatched the glass from her hand as she went to take another sip, swallowing it herself. "You're drunk."
"And you're a bitch," Hermione deadpanned, snatching the glass back. "Get your own drink."
"I thought you were sober," Pansy ignored her, taking a seat on the next stool.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione ignored her right back.
"This is where I go for lunch when I'm in town. We've been here quite a few times together, I'm so pleased it made an impression." Pansy turned away and flagged down the bartender so she could order, adding an order of chips at the end for Hermione.
"I don't want those," she snapped. "I'm not hungry."
"You're wasted, you're going to be hungry soon enough," Pansy waved her off. "So, are you here to hide from your ex, your current boyfriend, your latest fling, or the hordes of press that are looking for you."
"I'm not hiding," Hermione snarled. "Now would you kindly, bugger the fuck off?"
"I haven't had my food yet," Pansy shook her head. "So, seriously, what are you doing?"
Yes, do tell, her mind taunted her.
"I'm drinking," she answered both.
"I thought you were clean," Pansy said again, obviously not willing to let it go.
"Do you see any pills here?" Hermione snapped.
"I see an empty bottle, I assume the rest will follow," she shrugged.
"Well you know what they say when you assume."
"Yes, but it's never stopped me before," Pansy smiled. "So I'll just keep going, why don't I? You're here drinking because you're hiding from the actual descent guy in your life, after the two losers in your life came to blows because he's trying to tell you that it's not your fault."
"Fuck off Pansy!" Hermione slammed her glass down against the bar so hard that it shattered, shards of it embedding in her hand deep enough to hit nerves.
"Bloody hell, Granger!" Pansy jumped back, shielding her eyes. "What did you do that for?"
Hermione didn't bother to answer, she was too busy trying to get away.
"Hey!" Pansy reached out to grab her before she fell on her face, slipping off her barstool. "Granger, hang on!"
Hermione felt the pressure before Pansy had even touched her- sharp nails puncturing her skin, her fingers tingling from lack of blood flow…
"You think this is funny?!" Jean snarled, dragging the child down the street holding her wrist.
"Her flowers changed colours!" The girl giggled, then frowned slightly. "Mummy you're hurting."
"You're bloody well going to find out what hurting is when you get home, young lady," she snapped. "Now hurry up."
Realizing that perhaps the colour-changing flowers were not as light a matter as she'd thought, the child picked up her pace, jogging to keep up with her mother.
She sank quickly to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest protectively as she huddled under the bar. It's just a memory, she tried to tell herself, it's not really happening. You're just drunk. It isn't real. It isn't real…
Fuck that! her mind spat back angrily.
Her hands tingled from the rush of blood caused by the adrenalin in her system both from the panic and the open wounds, but she couldn't seem to convince herself that it was that and not the lack of circulation that had caused the same effect so many years before.
"It's not real," she breathed raggedly, one hand rising to tug at her hair. "It's not real. It's not real."
She couldn't keep the refrain up though, as it grew harder and harder to breathe through the panic-inducing memory. As the pain in her wrist grew, so did her resolve to keep it together grow smaller and smaller, until she finally gave herself over to the panic falling headfirst into the scene playing in her mind.
"Mummy what's wrong?" she asked, growing nervous.
"Be quiet," her mother responded tersely. "Not another word until we get home."
The girl nodded stoically and pressed her lips together tightly, determined to not even let her mother hear her breathe until told otherwise.
The second they walked in the door, she was sent to her room and told to stay there until called. Sitting on her bed, her legs crossed and her hands clasped together primly, she listened to her parents arguing below, their angry voices carrying all through the house. As hard as she listened though, she couldn't understand a thing they said.
"Possessed…" her father cried.
"Horrifying, inhuman!" her mother had countered.
She just couldn't understand why they were so upset though. The flowers had been beautiful, they'd shimmered and bloomed right in front of them like something out of a fairytale. The lady her mother had been talking to had said so, she'd said it was the loveliest thing she'd ever seen.
"Mummy doesn't like it," the girl said to herself quietly. "It mustn't be good if Mummy doesn't like it."
She nodded sharply to herself, mind made up. Yes, if Mummy thought it was… horrifying, then that must be what it was.
"Well?" The door to her bedroom swung open forcefully, slamming back against the wall and making her jump.
"Well?!" her father repeated, growing angrier. "What have you got to say for yourself?!"
When she didn't answer, not knowing what he was talking about, he darted forward and latched onto her wrist just as her mother had on the way home.
"Come on!" he tugged her roughly from the bed and out onto the landing, then marched her down the stairs. In the living room, her mother stood glaring crossly, her arms folded over her chest.
"Well?" she echoed her husband's question.
"I- I'm sorry Mummy," the girl stammered. She didn't know why, but it seemed that an apology was what they wanted, so she said it again.
"I'm very sorry, I didn't mean it," she looked down at her feet contritely.
"I bloody well hope so!" Her father snapped, his hand still holding her wrist in a vice-grip "How dare you embarrass your mother like that! Acting like a bloody heathen right out there in the open, it's disgraceful!"
She nodded along as he spoke, trying not to cry as he squeezed her wrist even tighter. As her circulation grew more and more strained, her fingers began to tingle oddly and she couldn't help but whimper at the strange sensation. Fingers weren't supposed to feel like that.
"What?!" Her father roared at the sound, yanking her arm even harder.
"Y-you're hurting," she whispered tearily. "M-my fingers Daddy."
"You're lucky that's the only thing hurting," he snapped. "I've a right mind to tan your sorry hide."
He didn't though, instead releasing her arm with a look of disgust and sending her to bed without supper or her books.
When the phone began to ring, Draco didn't even realize what it was, figuring it was just his ears ringing. It wasn't until Potter stopped arguing and snapped at him to answer the damn thing that he realized what it was- not that he was very sure what to do with it, which was why it was Potter that stomped over and picked up the receiver.
"What?!" It took less that a minute for his face to change from anger to fear, and in the moment that immediately followed Draco had snatched the receiver from his hand and put it to his own ear.
"Hello?"
"Oh good, someone helpful," Pansy Parkinson's gravelly voice came through the speaker. "Granger's melting down."
"What are you talking about?" Draco demanded, his own anger dissipating into worry. "Where are you?"
Instead of answering him, Pansy presumably held the phone up in Hermione's general direction, because the next thing he heard was her familiar sobs and mutterings.
"Where are you?!" He demanded once more, summoning his wand and preparing to apparate.
"What's she saying?" Potter asked, trying to lean in and hear what was being said. "Malfoy, where is she?"
"Miller's Daughter?" Draco echoed the answer Pansy gave. "What the fuck is that?"
"It's a pub," Harry answered. "I know it. Come on!"
He didn't wait for Draco to drop the phone before disapparating them. It was a miracle that Draco hadn't been splinched in the process, but he would yell at Potter about that later. The only thing that mattered now was Hermione.
When he entered the pub, there was a crowd of onlookers, all of them whispering and muttering to each other as they watched the broken girl on the floor of the bar.
"Oi, get lost!" Draco bellowed, shoving bystanders out of the way as he rushed to her side, sparing a quick glance for Pansy who was standing nearby, glaring at people.
When he finally reached Hermione, the worry he'd been feeling in the last five minutes turned to outright fear. She was bleeding, which was never a good sign, but what worried him most was her eyes. She was looking right at him, but he knew for a fact that she wasn't seeing him.
"Hermione?" He took another step towards her, crouching down to her level. "Hermione, it's Draco. Can you look at me, love?"
She felt him reach out to her and flinched instinctively, cradling her aching wrist to her chest. When his hand cupped her face instead of incurring further injury though, something sparked in her mind.
"Hermione, look at me," Draco's voice broke through the memory. "You're okay, love. It's just me, it's Draco. You're okay."
She felt his hand brush against her knee and let out a shaky breath, realizing that it was him in front of her. His name fell from her lips in a whimper and she felt him settle beside her.
"I'm here," he promised. "I'm right here, you're okay."
As his arm encircled her shoulders, Hermione leaned against him and tried to even out her breathing. You're okay, she repeated to herself. It was just a memory. They're not here anymore. Draco's here. Draco's here.
"Malfoy, is she okay?" Harry's voice suddenly joined the mix of noise around her and another jolt of fear shook her body.
She didn't mean to, but she flinched away from his voice all the same. He had been defending her, he didn't mean to scare her last night, she knew that. In the logical part of her mind, she knew that, but the other parts of her mind were having a hard time getting on the same page. Those parts of her mind told her to be scared, to run, to hide herself from this man for fear that he might do the same to her as he had to Ron.
No, she snapped at the thoughts. Harry would never hurt me, never. I hurt him, not the other way around.
But he could, the voice taunted back.
He won't!
Or will he?
Her face buried against Draco's chest, Hermione whimpered in frustration. Why couldn't her brain just listen to her?! Why couldn't she just be fucking normal?! Why were there so, so many thoughts that just wouldn't go away?!
"- gonna get out of here, okay?" Draco's voice broke through her thoughts once again, calm and reassuring. "I'll take you home."
Hermione nodded at the idea and allowed him to help her up, his hand cupping her head gently to keep her from hitting it on the bar. She didn't manage more than a single step before her legs gave out, but Draco didn't skip a beat, scooping her up into his arms.
"I've got you," he promised. "You're alright."
Hermione nodded and buried her face in his neck, her hand clutching his shirt tightly. She vaguely registered leaving the pub and stepping into an alley, then felt the tightening and tugging of apparition as Draco took them home.
Safe inside the flat, Draco carried her over to the sofa and sat down, still cradling her in his lap. "What's happened to your hand?" he asked, gently pulling it from her chest so that he could examine it. "You're bleeding."
"I… the glass… I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled. "I didn't… I didn't mean to, I just-"
Understanding dawned on Draco and he patiently waited for her to continue, his fingers tracing patterns soothingly across her back He knew this game well by now, she was drunk and confused. When she only continued to babble, he summoned a sobering potion and coaxed it down her throat, then healed her hand as he waited. The effects were nearly immediate, the fog lifting and shame taking it's place.
"I'm sorry," Hermione sobbed, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, I just-"
"It's okay," Draco cut her off. "Just take a breath, love."
As expected though, she didn't do anything of the sort, she only continued to sob out apologies while Draco tried to soothe her. When the sobs turned to whimpers, Draco carried her to the bedroom and settled her in bed, urging her to simply close her eyes and rest.
"Please don't go," she begged, still clutching his shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
"I'm not going anywhere," Draco promised. "I'm right here."
"I didn't mean to, I mean, I didn't go out to drink," Hermione continued trying to explain herself. "I just needed to get out of here. I'm sorry."
"Hermione, I'm not angry with you," Draco insisted. "Truly. I just want you to close your eyes and try to rest."
Rest was the last thing on Hermione's mind, though. She was far too busy berating herself, listening to that voice in her head that told her this had been inevitable, that she was never going to get it together and be good enough for Draco, that she would only ever disappoint him- and the fact that he continued to hold her and tell her it was alright only made her feel worse. She had just betrayed every ounce of trust and faith that he'd put in her over the last months, and he didn't even flinch.
Because he knew you would fuck it all up, her mind taunted. He knew it was only a matter of time before you fell back into the life. He's not stupid.
The thought only made her sob harder, clutching desperately to him for fear that he might disappear before her eyes. She wouldn't blame him if he did, he deserved so much more than her, but she selfishly continued to cling to him.
When her apologies moved on to quiet mutterings, indicating that she had finally succumbed to the effects of the alcohol she'd imbibed, Draco let out a sigh of relief. It always made his heart clench listening to her berate herself like this, convinced that she'd ruined everything and deserved to be burned at a stake. Thinking about the reasons that she felt that way, he cursed her parents for the hundredth time, and threw an extra one in for Weasley. They had convinced her that she was nothing, that she wasn't worth the shit on their shoes, and each time she begged him for forgiveness Draco felt bile rise in his throat. She didn't need forgiveness, she was always forgiven in his eyes- no matter what she said or did- he only wished that she could believe that forgiveness was deserved. Everyone made mistakes, caved under the pressure of life, fell down occasionally, and he would never hold such things against her, just as she hadn't held them against him. If only he could make her believe that, perhaps she would be able to consider forgiving herself.
Draco let out a heavy sigh, his eyes falling to the shattered witch in his arms, whose eyes had finally closed. She wouldn't sleep for long, he knew that, but it would hopefully be enough to let her see things a little clearer. She would still be horrified with herself when she awoke, still beg for his forgiveness for giving into her vice, but she would be more willing to hear reason and that was something. Before that could happen, however, he would have to finish speaking with Potter. It hadn't escaped Draco's notice the way she'd flinched away from her friend's voice back at the pub, and he knew that it would be counterproductive having the wizard there when she woke. Careful not to wake her, Draco shifted her weight from his chest and onto the mattress, brushing the hair from her face and covering her with a blanket before he slipped out from beneath her.
"How is she?" Harry spoke the second Draco stepped through the door, trying to look around him into the bedroom before the door was shut. "Is she okay? What happened?"
"She's drunk," Draco sighed. "But other than that, she should be fine. She had a memory episode, I think."
"You think?" Harry frowned. "You didn't ask?"
"I tried," Draco responded exasperatedly. "But I was a little busy convincing her that I wasn't going to leave her over one little stress-induced slip up."
"Right," Harry nodded, his accusatory posture falling away. "Right, of course. Sorry, I know how that is. Are… are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Draco snapped, the other wizard's attempt at concern slightly off-putting. "This isn't about me."
"It's a little about you," Harry shrugged tentatively. "It's not easy, taking care of her."
"We take care of each other," Draco said, feeling himself become defensive. "I'm not her keeper, Potter. This isn't you and her."
He hadn't meant for it to come out as an insult, but Draco could immediately tell that he had taken it as such, his shoulders slumping slightly in what might have been embarrassment.
"Look Potter," Draco sighed, trying to ease up. "I know you're worried about her, and you want to be here for her, but I think it would be best if you let her get in touch tomorrow."
"She's scared of me," Harry nodded, his face twisted in pain. "I saw it too."
"She doesn't mean to be," Draco assured him, suddenly feeling that he should comfort the other wizard. "It's just a reaction, she knows you wouldn't hurt her."
"It's fine Malfoy," Harry shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. "You were right, I shouldn't have hit Ron in front of her. I'll send her an owl to make sure she's okay."
Draco nodded somberly, following Harry across the flat to the fireplace so he could floo home.
"She'll come back," he tried to reassure him. "She knows you were only trying to protect her, she's not going to push you away."
"I know," Harry sighed again, running a hand through his already chaotic hair. "And I know that you're not going anywhere, even if she doubts it. You're a good guy, Malfoy… If you tell anyone I said that I'll kill you."
"I'm already trying to forget it," Draco's lip curled in disgust. "Get it together, would you Potter?"
The two wizards shared a momentary chuckle, before sobering once again and giving each other a nod.
"I've got her," Draco reassured him once again. "And she'll come around quickly. She's not going to let you go again."
Harry only nodded in response before tossing the floo powder and calling out his destination, leaving Draco and Hermione alone once again.