February 2008
Would it be ruder to tell her, or ruder to let it go? Draco finally opted to risk her ire.
"Uh, Granger?"
"What!?"
So she was having one of those mornings, then. The kind of morning where if Draco dared interrupt her writing, she'd bite his head off. Her foul mood was most likely caused by lack of sleep if her appearance were anything to judge by: Purplish bruises under her eyes, a sallow tint to her usually rosy face, and her hair haphazardly thrown in some sort of bun on top of her head. That, and she'd already snapped at Draco for sipping coffee too loudly.
"You have ink on your nose, left cheek, and forehead," he informed her politely, choosing to ignore her childish outburst.
Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up a flimsy paper napkin and attempted to wipe the ink off her face.
"Better?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Ugh!" Glaring at Draco as if he were somehow to blame for her ink-smudged face, Hermione pulled at the sleeve of her work blouse, but before she could use it to clean the ink, Draco protested in horror.
"Granger, have you any sense of decorum? That's not what sleeves are for!"
Huffing indignantly, he reached into his inside jacket pocket and flung a white handkerchief in her direction. Turning it over in her hands, a smile broke over her disgruntled features for the first time that morning. "You would carry around monogrammed handkerchiefs," she chuckled and finally managed to remove the ink.
Draco rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Well of course, Granger, I'm a gentleman."
Hermione snorted. "More like trust-fund brat."
"Careful, peasant, or I shan't ever lend you my coveted kerchief ever again."
Hermione laughed and held it back out to him. "Here, unless you want me to wash it first?"
Draco waved a hand imperiously. "Trust-fund brat, remember? I could have several sails made from my stockpile. Keep it as a reminder of my chivalry."
It was Hermione's turn to jokingly roll her eyes and Draco was pleased he'd been able to lift her spirits this morning. Usually when she was in these moods it resulted in sulky silence all the way to work.
"Want to tell me why you showed up today acting like an underfed blast-ended skrewt?"
That earned him a withering glare, but then she sighed and leaned back in her chair.
"I spent the weekend with my parents," she said softly.
Draco knew Hermione's relationship with her parents sometimes made her confusingly sad, but it seemed to be affecting her more than usual.
"Are they all right?"
"They're fine, it's just… with each passing visit, I feel this gulf widening between us."
"Did they say something to upset you?"
"No, it's not that," she replied thoughtfully and rested her chin in her hands, leaning back over the table. She stared off in the mid-distance and Draco knew her well enough by now to know she was simply taking a minute to marshal her thoughts before speaking.
"I can see it in their faces, Malfoy. It's the tiniest of things that will set them off. If I exclaim 'Merlin' or 'Godric' instead of 'God' or 'Christ' that shadow passes over their faces. Sometimes I'm a stranger to them because I've lost some of my Muggle turns-of-phrase or speech patterns. Sometimes I feel like I belong to two different worlds. I mean, my parents knew how to use mobile phones before me! Can you imagine? They had to teach me how to use one!"
"Yes, imagine that," Draco interjected dryly, "someone having to teach you how to perform a task."
Normally that would have earned him a playful slap on the arm, but Hermione seemed deaf to his interruption and she continued in a higher, more anxious voice.
"I've done all these amazing, fantastic things! I broke into and out of a highly secure bank! On the back of a Ukrainian Iron Belly dragon! And I could never, can never, tell them! So many facts of my life and they'll… never… know… and… I don't… I can't… ever…"
He watched as her face crumpled, then her features widened as she tried to find relief through air. Her body couldn't decide whether to cry or scream and all the while it had forgotten how to draw breath. Is this how he looked during his episodes? This was fucking terrifying to watch.
"Granger? Granger, are you all right?" She wasn't of course, but maybe if he asked, she would hear his voice and calm down. Hermione made no sign she heard him or that she even remembered he was sitting there.
Tears sprang suddenly from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. Her hands began twisting into the fabric of the front of her blouse as her wide, crying eyes stared off at nothing, her breathing sharp and labored.
Draco moved swiftly around the table and crouched directly in her line of sight. "Granger. Look at me. You have to look at me." She again gave no sign she could even see him, but her body started to sway in slight convulsions. He had to think fast or she was going to continue to spiral, maybe even start screaming. Draco recalled how she helped him during his flirtation with breaking his sleep potion sobriety and formed a plan.
"I'll be right back, fight this, I know you can," he murmured, not confident it even registered with her. He strode as quickly as he could without running to the counter. "A glass of water for my companion, please, I think she's unwell," he spoke urgently, but quietly to the elderly owner. The woman glanced quickly at Hermione, pursed her lips and fetched Draco a cup of water so fast he thought she might have summoned it.
"Wait," she called softly as he made to go back to Hermione. She grabbed the first muffin she could get her hands on out of the case and pushed it toward him.
"Have her eat this too, it can get real bad if her blood sugar stays too low. My husband served in Vietnam, I've seen my share of the shakes." Draco didn't quite comprehend everything she said but thanked her all the same.
He put the water and muffin on the table and crouched in front of her again. Hermione's eyes were now closed so tight, he wondered if they'd be bloodshot whenever she managed to get them open again.
"Granger?"
Nothing. She just silently cried with her eyes shut tight, shaking her head slightly back and forth as if trying to will away whatever horrible thoughts plagued her.
Draco was absolutely lost and more than a little scared. How could he help her out of this? From his crouched position in front of her, he gingerly placed his hands on the tops of Hermione's knees. Giving her legs a light squeeze, he thought of how best to reach her.
"Granger, what are the properties of a mandrake?" he asked softly. To his utter amazement, she stopped shaking and slowly blinked her eyes open.
"Wh-what? What did you say?" Draco was so relieved that she spoke to him even if her breathing was far too rapid and her voice panicked. His thumbs traced light circles on her knees.
"Mandrake properties, list them off for me."
Her brows furrowed but she didn't look away from him.
"Man-mandrake or… or man-mandragora is a… is a powerful restorative. It is… used to… to turn people who have been trans-transfigured or c-cursed to their original state… The cr-cry of the… the cry is fatal to-to anyone who hears it."
"Good girl. Recite Golpalott's Third Law." Hermione gulped a deep breath and continued to stare into his eyes.
"Golpalott's Third Law states… that the… the antidote for a blended p-poison… will b-be equal to more than the sum… of the antidotes for each… of the separate components."
She paused here and closed her eyes for a moment taking a few steadying deep breaths. Draco could feel she was so close to pushing through her attack. He gave her legs another light squeeze.
"That's it Granger, stay with me. Please, come back to me," he murmured encouragingly.
When she opened her eyes again, Draco was ready with another question. "Where would I look if I wanted to find a bezoar?"
"A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and will save you from most poisons," she recited at top Hermione-Granger-swallowed-the-textbook-again speed and Draco grinned.
"Welcome back, Granger," he said and realizing his hands were still on her legs, quickly let them drop.
"Here," he handed her the cup of water and muffin. "Drink this, all of it. And if you don't make quick work of that chocolate chip muffin, then it's fair game for me." That earned him a weak chuckle from her as he settled himself back across the table.
Hermione did as he instructed, sipping the water slowly and taking small bites of the muffin. When she'd finished the water, she placed the empty cup down and gave Draco a small smile.
"Thank you. I'm sorry you had to see that," she said quietly, but her statement completely floored him.
"Granger what on earth are you sorry for?" How could she have anything to be embarrassed about? She'd fought and won a war, for Merlin's sake, suffered unspeakable pain. If anyone had the right to fall apart sometimes it was Hermione Granger.
She merely gave a small shrug. "I haven't had a public attack like that in quite some time. I'm sure it's down to my lack of sleep."
"Do you… do you have them often?" His voice was careful, unsure if she'd be comfortable sharing something like this with him.
"Not as often as… right after the war. I usually only get them if I'm too tired or stressed or haven't been eating well. Lately I only have them at home, after certain nightmares."
"I guess that's another thing we have in common," he confessed before he could stop himself. Hermione met his gaze and Draco felt it again; that connection, that pull that originated from some place deep within him and towards the incredible woman in front of him.
They didn't speak for a few moments, just stared at one another as Draco's words hovered in the space between them.
He cleared his throat to break the tension. "Do you have a mantra? It was a tactic I was recommended once and it… helps me pull through. Helps anchor me a bit."
Hermione shook her head. "No. What's yours?"
"Ah, ah, that's cheating Granger. You wouldn't want to copy my work now, would you? How would you ever learn?" Draco smirked and was rewarded with another weak chuckle from Hermione.
She checked her watch and slowly gathered up her things and stowed them in her work bag. "We should get going," she commented softly.
"Yes, absolutely. I'm going to work and you're taking a sick day, so let's get you home already."
She looked up sharply at Draco. "Excuse me? I can't take a sick day!"
"You can and you will," he calmly replied. Hermione scoffed and swung her work bag over her shoulder before turning and practically stomping out of the café. Draco rolled his eyes behind her back and followed her down the street.
"Granger, do not make me stun you. You need to go home and rest."
"I do not! I have far too much to do today!"
With a few long strides Draco was able to overtake her and physically block her from walking further down the sidewalk. She stopped just short of running into him and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"Move, please," she demanded firmly.
"No," Draco replied, just as firm and smirked down at her. She huffed and flapped her arms and Draco bit back a laugh because she resembled an overly-irritated bird when she acted this way.
"This is not funny, Malfoy! I have to be at work!"
Draco sobered up then, realizing teasing wasn't going to get him anywhere. "Granger," he began softly. "Please. Go home. Your work will still be there tomorrow. You've just suffered a panic attack and you told me yourself you didn't sleep or eat well yesterday. If you don't take care of yourself, how do you expect to recover? Stop putting on a brave face for once and take a pause, yeah?"
Her eyes lost their intensity and ire and he could see her resolve crumbling. She let out a long breath and slung her bag higher up her shoulder. The fight seemed to be going out of her and Draco was relieved she finally seemed to see reason.
"You're right."
"Do mine ears deceive me or did you just admit I was right?" He couldn't resist the playful taunting, but this time Hermione rolled her eyes.
"You're right," she said again, sounding slightly defeated. "I'm no good to my department in this state. I feel like I could sleep for a month."
"Sod your department, Granger, you need to take care of yourself for you." Draco didn't know where these declarations were coming from, and Hermione stared up at him with a curious expression. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Do you umm… need me to walk with you?"
She shook her head, sparing him from continuing to make a fool of himself. "No, I'm only a few blocks the other direction and I think the fresh air might help a bit before I lock myself in the rest of today."
Draco shrugged and took a step back. "All right, perhaps I'll see you tomorrow if you're well." He made to turn away, but a soft hand stopped him in his tracks.
Hermione had a hold of his hand and it was impossibly warm. "Thank you. I don't know how I would have managed without you today," she murmured.
Draco couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. The only part of his body he had any awareness of was his left hand currently encased in Granger's grasp. He stared at their joined hands and didn't dare allow his gaze to wander up to her face. If it did, Draco was terrified of the words that might tumble out of his mouth. I don't know how I ever managed without you. I don't know how I ever will.
The moment dragged on a beat too long and Draco knew he had to say something to break this connection or he'd stand here all day, relishing in the feeling of her smaller hand in his larger one.
Finally, he gave a squeeze of her hand and let it go with a quiet "Of course, Granger, what are friends for?"
He turned and walked away, not daring to look back and make sure she actually left in the direction of her home. I am in control of this. I am in control of this.
True to her word, once Hermione left Malfoy this morning she'd gone straight home and into bed. She was pleasantly surprised to find that it was close to dinner time when she later awoke.
Thankfully, she'd managed to squeeze in a quick visit to the Burrow on Sunday after her stay at her parents, and Molly had sent her home with almost an entire cauldron full of beef stew. After gulping down the delicious leftovers, Hermione made it through the back half of the Muggle televised news, then a chapter of her latest runes text, before deciding to call it an early night and head back to the comfort of bed and snuggling with Crookshanks.
But sleeping through the night did not go to plan.
Hermione woke up with a shout, her eyes wet and breathing ragged as she clutched at her chest. Her wand was in her hand suddenly, pointing at a torturer who was not there and who was long dead. She choked out a sob and placed her wand back on her nightstand. Hugging her knees into her chest, Hermione let herself shake and cry and tried not to look at the other side of her bed, which was empty and had been for years.
It was on nights like these that Hermione missed her relationship with Ron the most.
Not for romantic reasons; no, she and Ron had parted on relatively amicable terms and there was nothing beyond friendship as far as affection between them these days.
But Ron had always known how to wake her from a nightmare. He knew the soothing words and actions she needed when she awoke in a cold sweat, screaming at nothing and aiming her wand at the phantom of Bellatrix Lestrange.
She missed the feeling of a strong, masculine presence in her bed, arms wrapped around her tightly. Again, not necessarily Ron, just a dependable person who could act as an emotional and physical anchor when she felt like unraveling.
When they split up, Ron would constantly remind Hermione that if she ever needed him, day or night, he'd be there. Ron alone of her friends knew the intricacies of Hermione's night terrors, and there had been times she took him up on this offer. But after he'd started seeing Padma, Hermione knew she could no longer Floo to Ron's in the middle of the night, sobbing while he rubbed her back and made her tea. So no, she couldn't go to Ron tonight.
Harry and Ginny would probably be asleep too. Luna was abroad with Rolf. She would hate to disturb Molly and Arthur, though they had also told Hermione on more than one occasion that she was welcome any time, no matter the issue, and they'd try to help.
But no, she would not intrude on other couples, it wouldn't be fair. Hermione realized, and not for the first time, that everyone around her had someone else.
Except that she did have someone else. In a way.
Her mind jumped to Malfoy and the way he'd been able to shake her out of her panic attack. How he'd shown concern for her well-being. The way his voice sounded when he begged her, "Please, come back to me."
It was both alarmingly sweet and a little selfish simultaneously. As she reflected upon their friendship, Hermione knew that she and Malfoy needed one another. A cynical part of Hermione's brain told her that it was because both of them were so pathetically lonely that they clung to this friendship to avoid being alone.
But that wasn't true. Not completely. Speaking for herself, Hermione had plenty of friends and, should she want to, could secure male attention and affection. Draco Malfoy was not her only option. He certainly wasn't a convenient option.
If anything, her embarrassing display of mental instability this morning showed her that he truly did value their friendship. Months ago when he'd apologized to her, Hermione worried that she was merely a pawn in his path to rehabilitate. The thought had been fleeting, and more to do with her lack of self-confidence than in any bad intent on his part. Then, she wondered if Malfoy only kept hanging around because he had no one else in his life and she was a simple distraction.
That was only half true, Hermione reasoned. Malfoy didn't have many people in his life, but Hermione had come to learn that this was a conscious choice, in part. When he talked about how miserable his holidays had been, she realized that, if he chose, he could be the darling of pureblood society. His family remained obnoxiously wealthy, and Narcissa being sort of in the good graces of Harry Potter meant they had a bit of political leverage still. Draco could say the word, and any number of pureblood witches would line up to be the next Mrs. Malfoy.
The same could be said of his former Slytherin cronies. The only name Malfoy ever even mentioned was Theodore Nott. But he did say that all the old crowd still attended his mother's New Year's Ball. Again, if Draco said all the right things, he'd be the star of his old social circle, attending pureblood soirees and galas every weekend.
Instead, Draco chose to show up every morning before the job he did not need to keep, to a Muggle café he did not need to patron, to spend time with Hermione.
A tangible connection existed between her and Malfoy. She'd felt it this morning when she grabbed his hand to thank him. Friendship, lust, it didn't really matter to Hermione what the connection was named, it mattered enough to her that it existed at all.
And so, Hermione hugged her knees to her chest and considered her options. It was three in the morning and she had no one she could Floo. Malfoy's face swam in her vision, but she knew that was out of the question. Firstly, their Floos weren't connected and secondly, she would feel like an absolute blundering moron if she had to explain herself at this time of night. Besides, if she could hang on for a few more hours, she'd be able to see him in person.
The thought of seeing Malfoy in person caused a warmth to spread through her body. She was a little bit furious with her panic-addled brain from this morning. Draco's hands had been gripping her legs and for the life of her, Hermione could not remember the sensation because her mind had been in such a fog.
Damn Malfoy and his curiously attractive hands. The impulse to touch him was so strong today that it resulted in her reaching for his hand before she thanked him and said goodbye. And when that strong hand had squeezed hers in return? Hermione had almost melted into the snow on the sidewalk around them.
Hermione knew he'd been jealous of her date with Anthony after his curious flip in mood when she'd revealed nothing had happened. She was no longer that oblivious Fourth-Year girl who couldn't recognize Ron Weasley's immature reaction over her attending the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. And she'd denied it to herself then, that Ron would be romantically interested in her. She denied it and denied it for years until she'd been the one to make the first move by kissing him during the final battle at Hogwarts.
Well she was sick of doing the chasing. If Draco wanted something more with her, he could bloody well man-up and ask her.
But would he ever? And how long would Hermione wait around? Maybe he only considered Hermione as a platonic presence in his life.
She felt her limbs begin to quiver again and knew she was going to start spiraling from the stress soon. What was it that Malfoy had suggested this morning? A mantra?
Closing her eyes and hugging her knees even tighter, Hermione fell back on the comforts of her childhood. In the days before magic, before Hogwarts, before her family was irrevocably damaged, there was one song that her father could sing that would never, ever fail to cheer her up.
We all live in a yellow submarine. A yellow submarine. A yellow submarine.
We all live in a yellow submarine. A yellow submarine. A yellow submarine.
A/N: Thank you all so very much for reading and for sticking with me as I share this story. Slow-burn stories are difficult, I think, because it requires a certain amount of trust and asks the reader to have faith in the author's timeline and pacing. I want everyone reading this to know that I don't take that lightly and, if you've continued to read this far, to say that I'm so very grateful you've given the story I've written a chance. There are so many wonderful D/Hr stories out there, and that people continue to read mine is an honor. Thank you.