WARNINGS: Language

I'm not okay
I'm not okay
I'm not okay
You wear me out

What will it take to show you that it's not the life it seems? (I'm not okay)
I told you time and time again you sing the words but don't know what it means
To be a joke and look
Another line without a hook
I held you close as we both shook for the last time
Take a good hard look

"I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" - My Chemical Romance

The voice in her head was screaming. It was a long, angry sound. An animal with its leg caught in a trap.

And then Hermione remembered that the voice in her head was just her, so she was actually the one screaming. She was making that sound.

Fortunately, it appeared that she was making it in her head. She knew because her jaw was aching from how tightly she was clenching her teeth together.

Although, when she dared look up from the letter, she immediately realized something was amiss.

Well, something else.

Severus was looking at her with a mixture of concern and apprehensive. He was holding his wand partially raised. He looked like he both wanted to hug her, as he had at the hotel, and hex her.

A quick check revealed why.

Hermione may not have been making an audible sound, but she was broadcasting. She was screaming in her head, and she was pushing it outward. Magic was crackling around her. She could feel strands of her hair whispering across her face.

As soon as she realized what she was doing, Hermione regained control. She sucked it all back inside and threw her shields up so quickly that it felt like someone had just punched her in the stomach. It was a wonder she didn't stagger backward.

She saw Severus relax, at least a smidge. She flushed. How humiliating, there was no other word for it, to be nearly 28 years old and to loose control of your emotions, your magic like that. Regardless of the circumstances.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, and despite the fact that it had been a mental scream, her voice sounded strained, "I—that was—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I have to go."

She couldn't find the right words and her mind was moving too quickly to sort it out right now. Her mind, her remarkable brain, was turning over this development, examining it from every angle. It was suggesting and discarding solutions at the speed of light.

Hermione swallowed, shoved the piece of paper into her purse, and tried to give Severus a reassuring smile. She was pretty sure she wasn't pulling it off. She'd be willing to bet that her smile was closer to a grimace. She turned to go.

"Hermione?"

"I—No, I really have to go. I'll be back… tomorrow. To show you the potions."

She didn't give him a chance to tell her she wasn't welcome or to say anything else. She opened the door, braced herself, and strode back into the world, trying to suffocate the growing sense of panic bubbling up within.

Hermione moved on autopilot. Voldemort himself could have passed her on the street and she wouldn't have noticed. Her mind sprinted along, using up every available ounce of brain power and leaving her body to function purely on muscle memory.

When she became aware again, she realized she was in a park at least 3 miles away from Severus' home. Her feet were aching. She'd more than missed her apparition point, which was fine; Hermione didn't know where she wanted to go anyway. If she tried to apparate right now she'd more than likely end up hundreds of miles from her intended destination or simply splinch herself.

She dropped heavily onto a park bench, letting herself go slack for a moment. Hermione tried to gauge if anyone around her looked familiar, if maybe the woman pushing the baby carriage or the man reading the newspaper on another bench might be following her.

For nearly ten years, Hermione had been painfully aware of her surroundings. Always on guard or heavily warded, and now here she was struggling to even figure out which park this was. Not good. She counted out ten slow breathes.

The panic was still sloshing around inside of her, but at least it didn't seem to be rising. She would figure this out. She just needed a minute.

She fished in her purse until she found her latest prepaid cell phone. Maybe the Ministry was following her. Maybe the Ministry was monitoring her owls. Hermione really couldn't say. That was a problem she'd have to take up soon, but for now, she was pretty confident they were not monitoring this prepaid phone.

For one, she'd only activated it a week ago.

Two, she was pretty sure they'd consider such things beneath them.

Sure, the current administration was pro-muggle, but it was sort of the way people are pro-dog. One might like dogs well enough, in fact, one might adore dogs, but no human thought dogs were their equal.

Hermione had long since learned that most witches and wizards who claimed to like muggles still looked down on them. That level of condescension kept them from taking advantage of muggle science and technology.

Hermione had no such qualms.

Immediately she saw she'd missed a text message.

From: Justin Bieber

SOS

The text had come in over an hour ago. It was from Draco. Hermione always stored him in her contacts as Justin Bieber, both to throw off anyone who might get ahold of her phone and for her own personal amusement.

She felt another wave of vague nausea. Either he had been reaching out to warn her about the letter or Astoria had taken an unexpected turn for the worse.

From: HG

Still there?

From: Justin Bieber

Y - KA

The panic gave a little leap. It wasn't what Draco had responded with but how quickly. His response had been immediate. That meant he was sitting there just staring at his phone waiting for her. Although the what was also cause for concern.

Y - KA meant that yes, there was still an emergency and he wanted her to meet him at the place in Knockturn Alley. That meant it probably wasn't Astoria. If Astoria was on her actual deathbed, she imagined Draco would have thrown caution to the wind and summoned her to his home. He also probably wouldn't have waited an hour for her to respond.

Hermione tried to calm herself. She reasoned that Draco probably just wanted to warn her about the passport suspension. And that cow was out of the barn, so there was nothing else to worry about. Right? Maybe he'd even be able to offer a solution.

It would be fine.

Surely.

And if not, it couldn't get worse.

Right?

The place in Knockturn Alley was a tiny back room above a shop. One got there through an honest-to-Merlin fake wall. It reminded Hermione of Muggle speakeasies from the 20s.

Although, she sincerely hoped that real speakeasies had been a lot nicer.

This was a dimly lit room badly in need of better ventilation. The floor and walls were the same worn gray color. The entirety of the room's furniture was a set of shelves against one wall, a tiny card table, and two rickety chairs.

The room was where Draco sometimes left ingredients for Hermione's brewing. She had occasionally sent potions there when it was too hard to get them directly to the patient.

This time, just like the other times, no one said anything to her when she entered the shop, climbed the employee only stairs, walked down the deserted hallway, and went through the fake wall. She assumed that Draco paid the shop owner very well for his discretion. Either that or he owned the building. That wouldn't have surprised her at all.

Draco was sitting at the table, his phone in front of him along with a bottle of whiskey that was missing about one-third of its contents. He looked disheveled, well, disheveled for Draco Malfoy… and perhaps even a little pale. Again, pale for Draco Malfoy.

He issued no greeting when she slipped inside. Hermione dropped into the chair across from him. She could count on one hand the number of times they had been in this room together, at the same time, and still have fingers left over.

"Is Astoria alright?"

Draco poured them each a drink and slid her glass across the table before answering, "She's still dying of a rare blood curse so I'm not sure that qualifies as 'alright,' but she's no worse than the last time you saw her."

Under normal circumstances, Hermione didn't drink in the middle of the day, especially with someone who might be considered a business associate; however, the circumstances she found herself in were feeling anything but normal.

And now Malfoy was stalling.

She picked up the glass and drank half the contents in one gulp. Fire cascaded down her throat. Not that she was any kind of expert on whiskey (or alcohol in general), but Hermione was pretty sure this is what people would call 'the good stuff.'

"Is this about my passport?"

"I need to warn you—wait, what? What about your passport?"

"So you wanted to warn me about my passport?"

"No, Granger, what are you on about? Is something the matter with your passport?"

"Yes, the ministry suspended it."

The dread was rising in her again. If Draco hadn't wanted to see her about that what had he wanted to warn her about.

"What?!" Draco's voice actually raised a few decibels, which was rare for him. As an adult, she'd never seen him shout, and while this didn't quite qualify as a yell, it was getting close.

"A ministry official showed up at—showed up, and delivered a letter saying they had to suspend my passport for 90 days because someone had tried to forge a document using my identity."

"Rubbish," Draco growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He poured himself another drink. Hermione slid her glass back to him. She was pretty sure she was going to need another shot.

"What did you want to warn me about?"

"Where were you when the official showed up?" Ah, so Draco had noticed the way she had veered off course. She had hoped that she'd slipped that past him. He was too bloody observant at times.

"Does it matter?"

"Only because you apparently don't want to tell me."

"Stop stalling and tell me what you wanted," Hermione hissed.

Draco sighed. It was a hell of a sigh too. It would have made an angsty tween girl proud. That sign drove Hermione to take another drink.

"They're moving up the vote on the law."

"What?!" Hermione lurched up out of her chair, turned her back on Draco to hide her face. Her world slid sideways. She could feel another scream building up inside of her.

Suddenly she heard a muffled crunching and felt a pinch of pain. She looked down and realized she'd broken the glass she was holding. Her hair was lifting again. Magic surging through her.

For the second time in less than 3 hours, Hermione had to reign herself in.

"Bloody hell, Granger," Draco said, looking at the mess in her hand. Well, actually the mess that was her hand. Her palm was a mixture of glass, blood, and whisky. It stung horribly. A shard of glass was actually sticking up out of her palm.

Her vision had gone a little tunnel-y and her head was throbbing.

Draco was now standing in front of her. Hands hovering a few inches over her, as if he wanted to take hold of her.

"I—" It came out as a croak. Hermione felt a wave of nausea, which must have been evident by the expression on her face.

"Don't you dare throw up that expensive whiskey, Granger," Draco teased. At least she thought he was teasing. It was hard to tell with Draco. "Here, sit down."

He hovered near her until she was seated again. Hermione tried to come back to the present. She hadn't felt this close to a full blown panic attack in years, and she really didn't want Draco Malfoy, of all people, to see her like this.

"Here," he handed her a handkerchief, "Your nose is bleeding."

Hermione pressed the pristine white square to her nose and pulled it back. Sure enough, bright blood speckled the surface. Magic had surged through her with such force and with no where to go that now her freakin' nose was bleeding. Bloody brilliant. Pun intended.

Draco pulled the other chair closer to her. He finished what was left of the whiskey in his glass.

"Give me your hand."

"Why?"

"So I can tell you your fortune," Draco deadpanned, "Merlin, Granger, so I can clean the glass out of it and stop the bleeding."

Hermione eyed him cautiously before laying her forearm on the table, palm up.

"If you still feel like you're going to have a panic attack, try taking some deep breaths. Normally, I'd advise in through the nose and out through the mouth but that might be problematic at the moment," Draco said, focusing on her hand.

"Who said anything about a panic attack?"

Draco snorted and plucked the biggest piece of glass out of her palm. Hermione was pretty sure she had kept her stoic expression in place, despite the twinge of pain. In fact, she sort of welcomed the pain. By focusing on that, she was able to keep some of the panic at bay.

"No one said anything, but you were diving head first in to one. Trust me, I know the signs."

He was making quick work of her hand. She decided not to question him about his expertise on panic attacks. Instead, Hermione tried not to think too much about the fact that she and Draco Malfoy were practically holding hands. Mainly because it didn't feel as weird as she thought that it should.

She noticed a small weekend getaway sized bag under the table.

"What's in the bag?"

Draco kicked it over to her in response. Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course he couldn't just tell her.

She twisted down, keeping her forearm still, and opened the bag with one hand. It contained maybe two pairs of women's clothes, trainers, a wallet with a muggle credit card in it, and $500 in cash.

"Are you planning to flee the country disguised as a woman?"

"You know, Granger, for the 'smartest witch of our generation,' you can be really bloody daft sometimes," Draco said, still not looking at her. Now he was focused on washing her hand off. "It was for you."

"Me?" Realization washed over Hermione. "You were going to tell me to leave now?"

"Yes. They're moving the vote up by two weeks. I assume you have a muggle passport? I was going to tell you to take it, take the bag, just the bag, and get the Hell out of here today."

"That's… unexpectedly kind of you, Malfoy," Hermione said honestly.

Draco snorted again. He was starting to bandage her hand.

"We're probably never going to sit around and talk about bad dates or celebrity crushes, Granger, but we're not not friends. I couldn't stand you in school, but that had more to do with me and my family than you—you know that right? I never really had the same prejudices as my father. Plus this law is…." Draco trailed off and scrunched up his nose. It was actually a little adorable.

"And Astoria," Hermione whispered.

"Of course there's that too," Draco said with a smirk. He really did love his wife. Hermione had known that from the first time he talked about her.

"Thank you." It was all she could think to say.

"You could still try… with your muggle passport, I mean, but if they went so far as to suspend your Wizarding passport, I don't know if it'll work. They're obviously worried about you. I can't imagine why," Draco drawled.

Hermione frowned at him. He was implying it was her fault, that she had punched Sirius and brought this attention on herself.

"What would happen if they caught me?"

"Do you have a good excuse for jetting off to America now that your Wizarding passport is invalid? A job? A speaking engagement? A wedding to attend? Anything?"

"No." Hermione had been planning to come up with some pretense for her trip but she hadn't had time. It was still a few items down on her checklist.

"I don't think they could arrest you, but they'd definitely stop you from going, somehow, and then they'd watch you like a hawk."

"What are my options?"

Draco sat back but didn't move his chair away. Her hand was neatly bandaged. Hermione left it on the table. He thought for a solid sixty-seconds before answering.

"You don't have many." He proceeded to list them off on his fingers. "Try your muggle passport, fight to get your Wizarding passport reinstated ASAP, get married, let them bind your magic, or I guess, I could try to smuggle you out of the country. I wouldn't jump at the last option though. It's risky… for both of us."

"Two of those aren't even 'real' options. Get married or let them bind my magic? Come on."

"Just because you don't like them doesn't mean they aren't options, Granger. Think outside of the textbook. You could get married, play into their law, and as soon as you get your passport back run off. Or you could tell them to sod off. Hermione Granger telling them she doesn't support their law, and is willing to loose her magic over it, is a pretty big deal."

Hermione looked at Draco sharply. He was good at this. Playing the angles.

"So call their bluff?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know what they'll do. It'd be a pretty sticky situation, a right PR nightmare. It might go your way… but it might not."

"I should. I should fight this, but honestly? I'm so tired fighting. I don't want to be the face of a cause. I just want to be left alone."

"Then you should have chosen different friends at Hogwarts."

"Screw you, Malfoy."

Draco chuckled. He drank some more. He held the bottle out to her, but she waved him off. She couldn't hold liquor the way Draco could.

"If I did get married, it'd have to be before their law passes. Before it's even announced."

"Why?"

"If I wait until after, they might think I'm just going along. They might suspect I'm bidding my time. If I get married before, hopefully, they'll think I actually want to get married… it'll give me some cover."

"So, in that scenario, who's playing Prince Charming?"

"Good question."

"Weasley? Merlin, they'd love that. Two of the Golden Trio reunited. Plus you have history; it would seem more authentic." Draco chucked again, "You should see your face. You look like I just asked you to marry me."

"Sorry, it's just Ron and I aren't compatible that way."

"Aren't compatible for a fake marriage?"

"Right, you're right. I guess since I can't imagine it, I assume no one else could either."

"Trust me, half the population would swoon. It'd be like a royal wedding."

"But… the thing is, whomever I fake marry will either have to flee the country with me or suffer the repercussions of my actions. I couldn't do that to Ron. He wouldn't want to leave his family and Harry. Plus, his career."

"Who then?"

"I don't know, but you're right. It needs to be someone I have history with. A complete stranger or someone that has never been linked to me in a close way will probably raise suspicion."

"No offense, but your pickings are slim."

"Thanks."

They both fell silent, running through lists of eligible bachelors in their heads. Finally, it hit Hermione like a punch to the stomach. She dropped her head and laughed grimly. She rubbed her hands across her face. She searched desperately for a different, better option. There wasn't one.

"What's so funny?"

Hermione grabbed the whiskey, took a swig directly from the bottle before speaking.

"I'm going to ask Severus Snape to marry me."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Whew! That was a long one. I hope it was worth the wait. Review, follow, fav—let me know you're out there. I appreciate it!

Artisticmom2 - Ha, yeah, I don't know what I would find more frustrating: Being thwarted by the Ministry or NOT getting to go to bed with Severus. Either way, poor Hermione!

AnneCaterina - Thanks for checking out my sequel. Trust me, more make-out sessions are ahead of us! :)

Lucyole - You called it!