Everything fucking hurt. Not just her head, but every fucking muscle. Every finger. Every toe. And especially her lungs. But this time, it wasn't the withdrawal. It wasn't the longing she still felt for those little blue pills or the bottom of the bottle. No, everything hurt because Draco-Fucking-Malfoy decided a fitness regimen was necessary in her recovery process. If there was one thing Hermione abhorred more than anything else in the world, it was physical exercise.

She'd made the most of the hiking due to circumstances during what should have been her seventh year at Hogwarts, but logically speaking, there was little reason why she would need to climb the side of a mountain. It's good for you, Malfoy explained as he pulled her out of bed so rudely at four in the bloody morning. Good for her? Since when did she care what was good for her? Taking fucking Dragon's breath wasn't good for her. Drinking countless bottles of firewhiskey, vodka, and whatever other alcoholic substance she could wrap her fingers around was decidedly not good for her. Why he thought she had any bloody concern about her physical health was beyond her.

That was how she found herself in the middle of the bloody forest, hiking up the side of a small foothill. Sweat trickled down her spine, soaking her grey tank top in a completely unbecoming manner, but she couldn't be bothered to give two shits about appearances when her lungs felt like they were on fire.

"Hurry up, Granger," Malfoy called back to her. He was nearly two metres in front of her, walking backwards with a smirk on his lips.

"Oh fuck off," Hermione huffed under her breath, giving him the two finger salute before reaching up to wipe her sweaty brow with a grimace. Even from this distance, Hermione could see that Malfoy had not even broken a sweat during their climb. They had been walking for nearly four hours, and the bloody prat didn't even have so much as a hair out of place. Meanwhile, she looked like hell incarnate. Wild curls frizzed from the messy bun on the top of her head, her cheeks were flushed, and every inch of her body was covered in sweat. She wished more than ever she had her wand. Not so she could make herself presentable, but rather so she could hex that shite-eating-smirk off his face.

"We're almost to the top. Once you're up there, if you still feel like punching me, I'll let you," Draco promised before he stopped, waiting for her to catch up with him. He'd never known Hermione to be a particularly athletic person, but judging by the way she was practically stomping up the hill, he'd wager to guess she had done very little physical exercise over the last decade.

This was part of the recovery. The physical wellness. It was another non-negotiable part of this program. Working out was mandatory because without physical health, it was almost impossible to be mentally healthy. He'd come to realise over the years that being sober required more than just fighting the need for a drug. Three aspects of wellness were required. Mental, physical, and spiritual. He'd done the first part: mentally breaking her from the vice like grip of addiction. He would need to work with her on the physical next before finally moving to spiritual. He'd begun to view addiction recovery like a stool: without one of those three legs, the entire thing would collapse. It had taken him years to figure out this method, but he would wager his own sanity on it now.

The physical aspect was the easiest part of the triangle, which is why it was so humorous that Hermione was acting like he'd told her to kiss the back end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"Don't tempt me with a good time, Malfoy." Hermione's feet felt like lead as she approached the arrogant blond. As horrible as this little adventure was, she was at least thankful for not being trapped inside the tiny cabin. The walls had begun to feel like they were closing in, and she could only slam the bedroom door in Malfoy's face so many times before it lost its emphasis. And she was running out of excuses to leave the room when Harry got too close. Whatever that tingle of magic was she felt whenever he touched her was terrifying. Mainly because it made her forget all the reasons as to why she shouldn't act upon it.

The sound of the dead leaves crunching beneath their boots provided a soundtrack as they walked in silence. Side by side, Draco and Hermione worked their way up the well-worn dirt path, taking the low grade switchbacks carved into the side of the foothill. Hermione was enjoying the quiet, taking the time to try and even out her breath, when he broke the comfortable silence they had fallen into.

"How did it all start?" Draco questioned, grey eyes glancing discreetly to the disheveled brunette beside him. Sure, he knew the story—t was his bloody job—but he wanted to hear it from her. He wanted her to go through the motions of putting her addiction into words. Depending on how she spun the story—like a spider weaving its web—he would be able to determine how much work still needed to be done. Would she leave gaping holes that would allow words to fall through like missed prey, or would she craft a carefully woven net of truth, trapping all of the reality behind what had become of her over the last ten years?

"A blond arsehole woke me up at nearly six in the morning and told me we were going on a hike before shoving a pile of clothes at me," Hermione said as she shot daggers at said blond. She knew full well what he was asking, but she wasn't going to let him off that easy. If he was inquiring about her supposed problem, he needed to ask the bloody question instead of beating around the bush about it.

"Very funny," Draco replied. "I meant the drugs and drinking."

"You want to know this now?" Hermione returned, her lips pursing. "We're in the middle of the bloody forest, climbing up a hill to what I can only assume is where you might give me some motivational speech about bullshite I don't want to hear, and you want to discuss when I started drinking and taking Dragon's Breath?"

"First off, I don't give motivational speeches. That's more of a Potter quality. I drop little nuggets of the truth people don't want to hear," Draco corrected with a roll of his eyes before he turned his head to look at her, no longer hiding his observation. "So yes, I would like to talk about that now. Unless, of course, you'd rather discuss something else… like, say, how your career is going?"

"Considering I'm trapped here with you and Harry, I have a feeling you know exactly how my career is going, Malfoy." Hermione sighed, her hands lifting to her hair and she began to tighten the elastic band over her messy bun. "Uh… I'm not sure how it started, to be honest. It just kind of happened, I suppose."

"Go back to the beginning then. When did you first realise you had a problem?" Draco suggested.

"I don't have a problem," Hermione lied, her teeth sinking into the inside of her bottom lip, chewing on the sensitive skin as a means of stopping herself from snapping at him. She hated this—this bloody idiot's attempts at getting her to admit she'd fucked up too many times. Of course she knew she had! But she did not have a problem. She could have stopped at any time, if she had wanted to.

"Oh, my apologies. I must not have realised that fellating a Weasley was such fun," Draco shot back, his hands moving to curl around the straps of his backpack against his shoulders, his thumb nail scratching irritatedly at the woven fabric.

Hermione could feel her anger begin to simmer, a low rumble deep in the pit of her stomach, but she refused to fall victim to his games. "It really is," she began, giving him a look that dared him to challenge her. "You should give it a try some time. I've heard how much you like sucking cock."

Draco felt his cheeks flush, and his mouth twitched. Had Potter—? No, he couldn't have! If Harry had outed him, the wizard would outed himself, and Draco very much doubted that the Boy-Hero was willing to admit he once liked to bottom for a former Death Eater. Doing his best to hide his reaction, Draco took the opportunity to slip the backpack off his shoulder and begin to unzip the main compartment. "Cut the shite, Granger, and just fucking tell me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, watching as Draco withdrew two metal canteens from the backpack, and he thrust one against her chest. With an annoyed sigh, Hermione took the canteen—only because she was bloody thirsty!–and began to provide the details Draco was so bloody hell bent on hearing.

"I guess, if there had to be a starting point, it would be after the war. After Fred's funeral. We drank that night. Harry, Ron, Ginny and I. We left the Burrow once he was put in the ground and walked across the field to this rock formation Ron used to play at as a kid with Fred and George, and we had a drink—in honour of Fred. I'd never really drank much before then. Maybe a glass of wine at dinner with my parents before…" Hermione's voice trailed off at the mention of her parents, and for the briefest of moments, her brown eyes took on a faraway quality that she quickly blinked away. She could discuss her drinking with him. Hell, she could discuss her drug use and having sex with Charlie to get her next fix, but she was going to be damned if she talked about her parents. That was too personal—too raw. She was not yet ready to share those demons with anyone, especially him. Taking advantage of the break in her story, she took a large swig from the canteen and used the back of her hand to wipe the residue away from her lips before continuing.

"But I'd never been drunk until then, and it felt good. Really good. The firewhisky silenced that nagging little voice in the back of my head, and I was able to forget about how fucking painful everything was. I didn't really start drinking regularly though until… well, I guess until after Claudine told me I couldn't see Ron." Hermione's brow knit as the memories of that conversation replayed in her mind. Her former assistant was just following orders, likely dictated by higher ups within the Ministry, but it didn't matter. She was so furious. She was not going to sit around and let them dictate every aspect of her life.

"I went to his flat that night to try and get some sort of… I don't know, some sort of plan in order. We'd just started dating, and I figured he felt as strongly about me as I did about him." Hermione laughed flatly. "He obviously did not. So… I guess I really started drinking more after that. It helped numb the pain I suppose."

Draco nodded, letting the silence linger before them for a moment longer than necessary. He could hear the pain in her words, but even as she exposed the hints of the demons that lived within her soul to him, he knew she still had her guard up. It was like cracking open a new book only to find that there were large chunks of the story missing. Blank pages. Taunting you to find their secrets. It scared him to admit, but he wanted to know more. He wanted to hear her story. He wanted her to get clean. He had never felt so bloody invested in the wellbeing of one of his clients before. He was normally reserved, stone-faced, and level-headed. But there was something about her that drew him in.

"Were you in love with the Weasel, then?" Draco broke the silence, glancing casually at the witch beside him even though he felt like his heart was pounding erratically. The question wasn't really important to her treatment, but dammit if he wasn't curious. He wanted—no, needed to know.

"With Ron?" Hermione shook her head before Draco could confirm that was indeed who he was talking about. "At the time I thought so."

"And now?" Draco pressed. The walking path began to narrow, bringing them closer together as they worked their way up to the vista point. At the closer proximity, her scent wafted over to him on the autumn breeze, igniting a low fire in his belly that he had a hard time ignoring. Over the heady smell of her sweat, Hermione smelt like the freshly-cut spring flowers his mother used to leave in vases around the Manor. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and he cleared the tickle in the back of his throat before dropping his pace to walk behind her, hoping the change in position would allow him to escape from her intoxicating scent.

"Now? No. I don't think I've ever been in love. In lust? Sure, but love is different, isn't it?" Hermione shrugged, glancing over her shoulder to the blond wizard. Her brows lifted in a silent question of what the hell he was doing falling behind her, but when he responded by waving off her inquiry like a gnat, she simply turned back around. "If I had been in love, I highly doubt I could remember it now."

"So if you realised you didn't actually love him, why did you continue drinking?" Draco questioned.

"Because it's fun," Hermione answered bluntly, but when an exasperated sigh sounded behind her, she knew he was looking for something more than the surface-level answer. Pursing her lips, she took a moment to think about the question. Why had she continued? It didn't take long after their break up for Hermione to realise what she thought she had with Ron was simply teenage romance, yet it still bothered her. The fact that he had so easily dropped her no longer hurt like it used to, but there was something else. There was something larger than the superficial facts.

"That was the first time that the Ministry told us what we could or could not do, but it certainly wasn't the last. Who we could or could not date, what type of people we needed to associate with, and even the clothing we wore. Then they started demanding more ludicrous things like how I styled my hair, and Claudine even wanted me to start highlighting my hair because blondes sell more magazine covers." Hermione rolled her eyes in annoyance, still obviously sore about that particular conversation. "We fought to end a regime. Harry, Ron, and I. But suddenly we were following orders from someone else: be here at a certain time, dress this way, smile pretty, and whatever we did, we had to make sure we absolutely did not open our mouths. We were figureheads. Bloody War-Hero's that they turned into puppets and paraded around like some sort of prize that the Ministry had won…We were kids; no one took us seriously back then—not that they do now, even. We might have risked our lives to save Wizarding Britain, but they'd thought we weren't smart enough to have a bloody opinion. Sure, the Ministry isn't as bad as Voldemort and his followers, but isn't being robbed of making decisions in my life just as bad? Because for me, either life was torture."

"So you drank to cope?" Draco said before running his tongue across his dry lips.

"I guess if you want to simplify it, sure. I drank to cope," Hermione agreed.

"That's one of the first things you've said since you woke up in the cottage that I completely understand." Draco reached up, his hand smoothing back his flaxen hair. "Everyone treated life after the Battle as some sort of celebration. Like we ought to be thankful we made it out alive, never mind the body count, the broken homes, or the literal wounds that still had not healed. I struggled to wrap my head around it. How could I be bloody happy when I took part in the reason so many lost their lives? In the end, I stood up for what I believed, but it was too late. I was already branded."

His hand instinctively went to his covered forearm, curling around the tattoo they both knew was there. "I drank too. To numb the pain, I suppose."

Hermione was supposed to hate him for doing this do her, but in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to make a smart arse comment because she knew those exact same feelings all too well. Everyone had told her she was supposed to be happy, but she wasn't. She was fucking ruined by that point. No mum and dad. No boyfriend. No Harry. She had risked everything that was important to her in her life, and what did she have to show for it by the end? A fancy flat and subordinate contract with the Ministry? No thank you. That was not the life she had signed up for. "It felt better to not be in control of my own destiny because of my choice to drink rather than because someone else called the shots," she admitted, teeth pulling at her bottom lip. The drinking didn't fix her problem though, did it? The drinking lead to taking Dragon's Breath because she got to a point where the alcohol wouldn't numb the pain. Where the demons she waged war with still made it through the drunken haze. The drugs helped. They numbed the pain, but they also numbed everything else until she simply couldn't feel.

Her eyes closed for a moment as the distant memory of what that little blue pill tasted like pulled at the back of her mind. What she wouldn't give to just fucking take one more. One more pill. One more drink. Gods, if she could make this pain, the pain that felt like an axe wound in the center of her chest, disappear with just one pill or one drink, she would do it a thousand times over. Because the reality was she was not capable of facing her problems. Not yet. Not now. Possibly not ever. She was too broken. Too damaged. Harry might have stumbled back into her life, but the reality was she was going to be alone forever. No one loved her. She was worthless. Being sober did not make her question these facts—it made them more true than before because she wasn't able to hide behind the haze of inhibition.

"You alright, Granger?" Draco questioned as he watched her pace slow to a crawl in front of him. He'd nearly ran into her backside if he had not lifted his eyes up from the forest floor in time.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she nodded, glancing over her shoulder to Draco. "Yeah sorry, just thinking." she lied before looking back up the trail. In the distance, she could make out what she assumed was their destination: the trail ended at a small clearing in the trees.

She and Draco moved the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the blond prat trailing behind her, thankfully giving her some much needed breathing room. By the time she made it to the clearing, her heavy breath had leveled out a bit, and she no longer felt as sweaty as she had earlier, but that was mainly due to the lack of overhead afternoon sun.

Walking out into the clearing, the trail emptied into a large, grassy field that was situated on the side of a foothill where a cliff had formed. The vista point was breathtaking. A view of the forest valley lay before them, and the rolling hills of green glistened beautifully against the pink and purple sky. It was like a painting. So pristine. Not an ounce of broken landscape or life was visible from this vantage point.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she looked at the scenery before her, her hands resting flat against her abdomen. As she took in the beauty, a small tingling of pride set in. She had hiked up here. Begrudgingly, yes. But just the same, she had done it on her own. Two weeks ago, if Draco told her she could make this hike, she would have told him to fuck off. And technically speaking, she had tried that tactic just the same this morning, but he had dragged her out here anyway and made her climb.

She felt him walk up beside her, the heat from his body warming the side of hers as they stood side by side admiring the picturesque view. "Thank you," Hermione whispered as if afraid loud noise would ruin the moment.

Draco glanced down to the witch, blond eyebrows lifting at her in mock surprise. "Come again? I think I must have misheard you," he teased.

Hermione's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she heaved a sigh before turning to face him. "I said thank you," she repeated begrudgingly, "for dragging me up here against my will… for believing I could do it."

Humility was not a trait Draco possessed. He was—after all—a Malfoy. The side of his mouth tugged up in a smile that was sharp enough to cut, and he accepted her praise like a kneazle that got into cream. "You're welcome. Perhaps you'll trust my judgement now?"

"Not a chance," Hermione quickly returned, laughter lining her words. "One good deed does not outweigh nearly a decade of past experience, Malfoy."

Draco laughed, the corner of his eyes wrinkling. "Alright, but I'd like to think I've done more than just one good deed since you've been in my care. I bought you those boots, cleaned you up when you were sick, and I feed you nearly every night."

"I'll give you the boots, but the other two don't count," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her bust.

"Oh? And why not? They sound fairly chivalrous to me," Draco defended, his head cocking to the side.

"Because you're taking payment to do them. The exchange for money and services negates the chivalry of any deed you claim while you're working," Hermione said, far too happy to point out the loophole she had found in his logic. She rocked between the heels of her feet and her toes and wagged her brows at him as a self-satisfied smirk plastered onto her features.

Draco shook his head, his left hand kneading the taut muscles of his neck. Technically speaking, she wasn't wrong. He was providing a service, and it was his job to take care of her. But what she didn't know was he had not received full payment for this job yet. He'd given Potter a hefty figure when he requested his services, partially hoping the wizard wouldn't take it. When he did, Draco had been shocked. How Potter was able to amass so much wealth that he could spend a triple-figure Galleon quote at the drop of a hat was beyond him, but it was clear that Harry was intent on helping his friend. That was why he only demanded half down up front. Not his normal protocol, but he felt almost bad for the wizard. Besides, Hermione was not going to be an easy case to crack; he had already known that. If he did fail, he didn't really feel like being that negative in the hole to the boy wonder.

"You're right. I suppose it doesn't count," Draco relented before dropping his hand from his shoulder, and he reached out, gently laying it on Hermione's shoulder in a friendly gesture.

As soon as Draco touched her, the spark ran between them. It began at the point where his fingers grazed against her bare shoulder and ran a line directly to her heart before heading south and pooling between her thighs. Unlike what she had felt with Harry, which was fast and wild, this spark felt familiar. Like returning to the Gryffindor dorm rooms after summer holiday. It felt comforting and reassuring, like everything in the world was going to be okay. It made her want to press her body against his and see just how bloody right it was. And just as quick as the consuming tendrils wrapped around her consciousness, Hermione gasped and pulled away from his touch.

Brown eyes widened, and she looked at his long fingers as if they would show the reason for the sensation. When she found nothing on them that would have caused the static electricity show, she looked back up into his eyes and knew in an instant he felt it too. That pull. The magic that seemed to sing its siren's song between them when they touched. "I… I…" Hermione stammered nervously, unsure of what to say or do. This was Malfoy! Fucking Malfoy! Slytherin prat. Ex-Death Eater. Her sober coach, for lack of a better term. She wasn't supposed to feel fucking anything about him beyond being perpetually pissed off by his presence!

Draco gulped, his Adam's apple running the length of his throat as he watched her gobsmacked expression. He'd felt this before. This comforting magic. This sweet reminder of life before the war. How he felt as a child. Warm. Safe. He thought it was a fluke, an anomaly because it had only happened once before, but now he knew. Now he knew that visceral reaction was not just happenstance, but rather because of her.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought, and he pulled his hand back, quickly rubbing his stinging palm against his thigh. "It's going to get dark soon. We should head back," Draco said quickly, his tongue moistening his lips as he took a step backwards from her. "Don't stay up here too long."

Before Hermione could utter a single word, she watched Draco turn around and stride back to the trail they had just walked up, her heart pounding, her skin aflame, and her mind racing with the possibilities about what this reaction to his touch could possibly mean.

Author's Note:

I always think of great things to leave in the Author's Note when I'm writing, but when I come to actually posting they vanish. So instead you get some rambling. Thank you all for the amazing reviews. They honestly inspire me to keep writing! Thank you Ravenslight for being an amazing beta, and disenchantedglow for alpha'ing me through my madness. Come follow me on tumblr ms-merlinblack