"Firewhiskey and Cedar"
Rated: T

The room spun as Hermione threw back another shot of Ogden's Finest. It burned her throat, as had every other shot that preceded it. She looked around the bar, the other people in it still in focus, despite how the floor tilted this way and that. If she wanted them to blur, she needed more.

"Another, please," she said to the bartender.

"I think you've had enough," the young man said, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked, leaning forward, only to catch herself on the bar top as she wobbled.

"Everyone knows who you are," came a new voice from her left. She spun, closing her eyes as dizziness overwhelmed her. She opened her eyes again and wished she hadn't.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" she groaned, exasperated.

"Looking for you," he said as he sat, lifting his hand toward the bartender, who sat a glass of Ogden's in front of the blond as well.

"I wish you wouldn't," Hermione said, dropping her forehead to her folded hands as the firewhiskey threatened to come back up. "I wish you'd just leave me alone." Her voice was muffled.

"Can't do that, Granger," he said as he sipped his firewhiskey. "Here." He poured a vial into her empty glass. "Sober-Up potion. Drink it before you throw up on my new shoes."

Hermione growled, pushed herself up, and glared at him. He sipped his firewhiskey again and nodded toward the glass.

"Brewed it myself," he said, sitting his glass on the bar. "So you know it's the best."

With a huff, Hermione threw the potion back, grimacing at the bitter flavor. As soon as she swallowed, the room stopped tilting and the buzz she'd been cultivating vanished. The nausea was the last to go, and when it was gone, she let out a little sigh.

"OK. I'm sober. Mission accomplished. You can report back to the office that I won't splinch myself while apparating and embarrass the ministry," she said as she slid off the stool to leave.

"Is that why you think I'm here?" he asked, pushing his Ogden's away.

"Why else would you be?" she spat out, immediately regretting it when he gritted his teeth and glared over at her. They'd been doing so well at work, working as partners, getting along. "I'm sorry. I - "

"Get home safe, Granger," he said, throwing some coins onto the table and standing to leave.

She watched him go. Watched the door close behind him. She wasn't going to follow. There was no reason to. She wouldn't -

"Bloody hell," she said as she stood, paid for her drinks in a rush, and practically ran down the street after him.

"Malfoy!" she called. He was walking up ahead and didn't even pause in his stride, though she knew he heard her. She shook her head and picked up her pace. "Draco, please!" She grabbed his arm and he stopped.

"I didn't come because someone from work sent me," he said, gritting his teeth as he turned to face her. "Though, if they knew what state you were in most nights, you'd probably be canned." He pulled his arm from her hand. "I came because I was worried about you."

"Why?" she asked, staring up at him. "My husband left me and I'm angry. It's a pretty normal reaction!"

"Your husband left you, because you're so angry, Granger." His voice was calm in the face of her volatility and she felt tears spring to her eyes. "The war damaged us all, and - "

"My husband left me to get away from what I've turned into," she said, stepping into his personal space, her eyes narrowed in anger. "We were in love, you know?" she said, fighting the urge to break with the memory of Ron, how he'd looked at her near the end - with pain and pity in his soft blue eyes. "And I botched it. I let the war stay with me, let it poison me, even after it was said and done, and it drove him away." Tears broke free and trailed down her face. "So tell me again, why are you here?" She shoved him, her hands connecting with his pressed suit. He barely wavered.

He sighed as he looked down at her. Her hair was a mess. Her cheeks were tear-stained and red. Despite the Sober-Up potion, she reeked of firewhiskey.

"I'm here, Granger, because I'm broken, too. Because I'm bloody angry, too." He gripped her shoulders, his fingers stiff, but his pressure gentle. "And because I care about you, dammit."

Hermione looked up at Draco, looked up into his eyes, which were open and wild. Yet, despite how unstable he looked, his grip on her shoulders was soft, as if he were afraid she might break.

"Besides," he said, his voice gruff, and she met his eyes. "We're partners. Right?"

"At work, we're partners," she said, her previous vitriol gone.

"We're partners," he said, squeezing her arms lightly. "On duty or not. And partners take care of each other."

She looked up at him again, and the softness, the raw emotion that she saw in his eyes nearly broke her. "OK," she choked out before the floodgates opened.

Ron had left her. Her sweet, funny Ron, her best friend, had left her. It had been nearly a year, and it still ached like a fresh wound every time she pictured his face. She was falling into a pit of alcohol and loneliness. She was falling, and could find no handholds. Tears poured down her cheeks as he remembered, as she felt what her life was becoming.

"Let me take care of you for a while," Draco said, stepping a bit closer. He smelled like cedar, like the blankets her mother had kept in a cedar chest when she was a girl. The smell had always been a comfort then.

"OK," she choked out again, before she fell into his chest. His arms encircled her, holding her against him. She could hear his heartbeat. He smelled like cedar, like warm blankets and safety. She clung to his waist as all of it - all the pain, the grief, the anger - came rushing forth. He held her, kept her standing, as it all threatened to pull her under.

"I've got you," he said, his voice heavy with relief, and she clung to him even tighter. "I've got you."