Hermione and Draco
Living in Paris was supposed to be wonderful, fabulous, and glamorous.
Not so.
Hermione sat on the terrace smoking a cigarette (In a wizard's body smoking has no danger in it).
Draco seemed to be dragging deeper and deeper. He had a problem, an addiction, but didn't want to deal with it.
Bursting into the flat, Draco stumbled into the bathroom.
"Draco?"
The only answer she got was the slamming and locking of the door.
Hermione took another puff of the cigarette: best way to deal with Draco's PMS like syndrome was to light a cigarette and wait for him to come to her.
Nevermind the fact she had been waiting for the last six months.
After awhile, Hermione became worried. And decided to unlock the door.
Draco was hanging on the toilet, his pale skin death ivory and his eyelids where dark purple.
"Draco! Draco, answer me." She stepped forward hearing the crunch of pills: it looked like an overdose. She flipped him over and listened for his heart.
It
Wasn't
There.
Taking his body close to hers she apperated to St. Mungo's.
Hoping, no praying that the Power that Be save her boyfriend's life.
A/N: If you want me to continue review