It wasn't like Hermione was used to seeing Draco every day at work. But, for the past nearly two weeks, she had seen him every day. Sometimes she stopped by his office on her way for her daily tea, and he'd been back to her office at least twice since that first time. It was far more secluded than his was, and sometimes they both needed a few minutes in the middle of their long rather boring days to just enjoy each other's company.

The first day that she didn't see him, she figured it was nothing big. Perhaps he was out on a mission or an assignment. She asked Harry about it that night and he'd shrugged and said that actually, Draco hadn't been in that day. But he was probably fine, everybody misses a day of work here and there.

By day two, she was a little more worried. There was still no sign of Draco. Harry had no idea, and he checked into it and said that no, Draco definitely hadn't been put on an assignment. For all intents and purposes, he should be in the office. Hermione checked three times. He wasn't.

On day three, she was anxious - too often someone not showing up when they were supposed to had meant that something was horribly wrong, and Hermione had never been able to fully turn off that part of her brain. From everything she knew about Draco, this wasn't like him at all. Hermione spent the day trying to work on the spells she was still testing out and eventually she got so stressed that she wrote him a letter and walked up to the Ministry owlery to send it off immediately. She told herself that she couldn't worry, that he would be fine. He lived with his mother, after all. And Ginny, though the woman herself had admitted that sometimes she didn't see Draco for weeks at a time. The house was too big. Besides, she had been travelling for work lately and Hermione wasn't even sure she was home this week.

At the end of the day, she still hadn't heard. Hermione was doing the best she could to tamp down her anxiety, but she kept thinking of him sitting in his office and taking shots from a flask. Her gut was screaming that something was wrong. She hadn't let herself admit it yet - that he drank too much and that it was an issue - but the more she thought about it, stewing in her office, the more she worried.

When Hermione landed on his front doorstep, she was a mess of nerves. She forced herself to take three deep breaths before she knocked on the door, and then she waited, hoping to God he would be standing on the other side.

It was Bilby. "Hi Bilby," Hermione said, trying not to sound too dejected. "I was just wondering if, um, if you've seen Draco lately? He hasn't been at work and I'm just a little worried about him."

Bilby thought about this for a moment, tapping her foot and tugging at her ear as she thought. "Bilby has not seen Master Draco. He does not like Bilby being in his rooms… But, not unusual for Bilby not to see him!"

Hermione nodded. She thought for a minute that maybe she should leave, but she'd come all this way and something in her was pushing her; she needed to see him to make sure everything was alright. "Bilby? Do you think you'd be able to show me where his room is?"

Bilby paused for only a minute but then nodded, opening the door to let Hermione inside the house.

It was a long walk through the winding Manor to Draco's bedroom. When the reached the door, Bilby stopped abruptly. "Bilby has to go back to dinner now, Miss Mia-nee. You call for Bilby if you need?" Hermione nodded to the elf and then, when she had gone, knocked on the door.

No answer.

Hermione stood there for a minute, shifting nervously from one foot to another, and then knocked again. When there was still no answer, she took a deep breath. This felt like an incredible invasion of privacy. After all, what were they really to each other? Two people who were only barely friends who happened to have sex in inappropriate places, usually while their spouses were having sex with each other in only slightly more appropriate locations.

But...

Steeling herself, Hermione reached out and tried the handle. It opened easily and she pushed the door open, stepping inside the dark and cool room. She was struck almost instantly by two things. The first was that it didn't look like what she had been imagining. It was light and airy, with large windows that looked over the grounds. The sheets on the bed were white, as were the couches by the fireplace and the curtains over the windows. The bed was huge, probably a king sized, and the whole room felt clean but lived in, modern but comfortable.

The second thing that hit her was the smell. It smelt like there was an entire firewhiskey brewery hiding behind the couch, and she couldn't help but cough as it hit her.

Stepping further into the room, Hermione nearly slipped in a puddle. On closer inspection, she realized it was a puddle of Ogden's, spilling from a bottle near the bed, which better explained the smell. Unfortunately, what she didn't see was Draco.

Taking a deep breath, she moved further into the room. "Draco?" She called, softly, looking around. "Draco?!" She tried again, a little louder. And then she heard a noise that sounded like a groan from the back of the room and followed it. She found her way to a half open door and when she pushed it open Hermione realized she was in a bathroom. A stunning one. Huge, with marble floors and a massive tub and even bigger shower. And there, spread out face down on the floor near the toilet, was Draco.

Gasping, Hermione rushed over to him and dropped to her knees next to him. "Draco?" She murmured, reaching out and shaking at him, gently. "Draco, are you alright?" She whispered, frantically now. When he groaned, just a little, in response, she let out a shaky breath. He wasn't dead. Thank god. "Draco, what's happened?" She asked again, and slowly rolled him onto his side, leaning closer to get a good look at him.

Draco turned his head up towards her. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy and his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He blinked once and managed a weak smile up at her, but it didn't reach his eyes and it made him look worse rather than better. Hermione pressed her hand to his forehead and swallowed hard. He was burning up under her hand, his face and hair damp with sweat. "Draco, can you sit up?" She coaxed, and started to lift him upwards.

He protested at this, groaning and shutting his eyes. "Whole room's…spinnin'…" His speech was slurred and his voice sounded thick and Hermione thought back to the bottle of Ogden's spilled over the floor. She wondered how long it had been since he last took a drink, and how much he had drunk before that. Briefly, she wondered if she should floo him immediately to St. Mungo's, but she had a feeling that Draco would not be entirely pleased to wake up there. Besides, she knew some basic healing spells. If she could balance out his fever and keep him away from the rest of the alcohol…

Shaking her head, Hermione quickly threw herself back into battle mode. She lowered him gently back down to the floor and moved quickly to the tub, turning the taps on and waiting until the water felt suitably lukewarm. She didn't want to shock his system with too cold a bath, but she also needed to do something and cooling charms just weren't nearly as effective as the old fashioned methods. Very gently, she levitated Draco but only enough to move him slowly over towards the tub. Lifting him up off the floor only reinforced the fact that he was shaking slightly, and she wondered what she'd gotten herself into.

As she lowered him into the tub, he looked back up at her again, barely even aware of where he was, and Hermione managed a weak smile. "You'll feel better soon," she whispered, and he seemed to find some comfort in her words.

It took nearly an hour before she felt that he was no longer dangerously overheated. Hermione levitated him from the bath and into the bedroom, laying him down on the bed. She cleaned up the spilled firewhiskey first, and then cast a drying charm over his clothes. Drying charms weren't nearly as effective when you were wearing said clothes, but the thought of trying to undress him was daunting.

Climbing onto the bed beside him, Hermione propped herself up against the headboard and pulled his trembling body closer, drawing his head into her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes, trying not to cry with the weight of it all, and hoping he would wake up soon.

It must have been hours later when Hermione woke up with an uncomfortable crick in her neck. She blinked, trying to figure out where she was. The room was dark now, but it was obviously not her room. Glancing around, it all suddenly came back to her and she sat up further, feeling around on the bed for Draco.

He wasn't there.

Swallowing her panic down, Hermione took a deep breath and flicked her wand, lighting up the room with her lumos and glancing around. No sign. Her eyes landed on the bathroom door and she realized that it was ajar, just a little, and there was a soft light spilling from the edges.

Hermione kept her footsteps light as she moved to the bathroom and pushed the door open slowly so that it wouldn't creak. Draco was on the floor again, curled up around himself next to the toilet and shaking. Hermione sighed and moved over to him, sitting down beside him again, running a hand through his hair.

"Draco?" She murmured, hoping he was more coherent now.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open and looked up at her, scanning her face. "Didn't realize you were really…" He trailed off, wincing. "You are really… here?"

Hermione offered him a small smile. "Yes. I'm here. How are you feeling?"

Draco shook his head in response. "Ill." He murmured, pausing for a second. "Must… have the stomach flu."

Reaching over, she tugged at his hand and wrapped her fingers around it, trying to reassure him that it was alright, that she was there. "When was the last drink?" She asked, and he managed to throw some of his usual malice into his gaze as he frowned up at her.

"Don't know… what you're talking about."

Hermione sighed and rubbed at her forehead with the heel of her hand. "How are you so infuriating even when you're in withdrawal?" She mumbled, but squeezed his hand anyways. "You had a hell of a fever when I found you, Malfoy, and there was an entire bottle of Ogden's soaking into the probably very expensive wood floor in your bedroom."

Draco, stubbornly, did not respond. Instead, he tightened his grip on her hand as well.

"I'm guessing something happened and you were drinking more than you usually do. And then you spilled that bottle and didn't have any more and by the time I found you, well..."

"Dammit, Granger, could you keep your nose out of everyone else's business? I was doing just fine before I met you."

Hermione flinched, just a little, at his words. The tone of his voice was too empty though, for it to be what he was really thinking. "Are you sure about that?"

"If you want to… to make yourself useful, you can go buy me some more firewhiskey."

"Look." Hermione paused, wondering if this was a good idea. "You're a grown man, and you can do whatever you want to do. If you want to go out and buy more alcohol and drink until you're dead… I can't stop that." She frowned, hoping to god this would work. "But, I'd rather you weren't dead. And if you want, I'll stay with you while you get over the worst of this. And… and I'll help you, if you want to quit."

Draco let out a sigh that trembled through his whole body and he looked up at her, watching her closely. "I've already told you, Granger… I'm not worth saving."

"I don't think you really get to decide that, Malfoy."

Draco frowned at her and pushed himself up off the ground, leaning heavily on his arm to not fall over again. "Do you want to know what I did, Granger? Not just what I saw, but the people who I hurt? How many lives I-"

"Stop!" Hermione cut him off, reaching a hand out to press on his chest. "I've told you. I don't want to know. I… I forgive you."

"You shouldn't. I'm worthless. All of you would be better off if I weren't here anymore. Might as well let me drink myself to death in peace."

Hermione lifted her hand up to cup his cheek, moving a little closer to him on the cold tile floor. "I would not be better off."

Draco seemed to consider this, closing his eyes and leaning into her hand, just a little. "I don't deserve you." He mumbled, and shook his head. "I would…" His sentence trailed off and he sighed. "Fine. I'm willing to try. I can't promise you anything."

"I know." Hermione smiled at him, and kissed his forehead. "No one can ever promise anyone anything, not really."

The first three days were the worst. Hermione managed to write in and use up a few of her sick days, and she pulled in one of her (many) favours with Harry to ensure Draco would not be missed at work for a few days. ("Dragon pox is, after all, very contagious. Don't need the Aurors catching that." Harry had agreed with a wink through the firecall at her. "Nasty disease, really. Much safer for you to be in quarantine at the Manor than here, getting me sick.")

Draco spent most of the first day in the bathroom, trying not to vomit and not moving much because the room was spinning. That night when he finally fell asleep, Hermione had Bilby trash the rest of the alcohol in the house.

On day two, Draco started to get anxious. He fidgeted and tugged at his hair and asked her if he was going to die. He also got mean; even more so when he realized that there wasn't even a nice bottle of wine left in the Manor. But even his meanness now, Hermione realized, held none of the malice she was used to. Instead, it seemed like he was a child going through the motions of a temper tantrum. All bark and no bite, and even most of the bark was diminished by the fact that he was still shaking slightly and sweating profusely.

The third day was when things started to turn around, other than the fact that now he wasn't sleeping. When she'd finally decided she had to go to bed, she'd tossed him the few books that she'd had in her purse and curled up on the couch to get some rest.

On the morning of the fourth day, Hermione woke up curled into a warm body. She kept her eyes closed for a minute, relishing in the feeling of having someone near, especially someone who smelt so good. Then she realized where she was and opened her eyes, looking around.

"Why am I in your bed?"

Draco looked down at her. He was propped up on the headboard holding a book, which he set down beside him when he realized she was awake. "You looked uncomfortable on the couch."

Hermione frowned, rubbing her eyes. "You actually look… pretty good today."

Draco snorted at her and smoothed a hand over her hair. "Showered." He said, simply.

"Right." Hermione agreed, with a nod. "Did you sleep at all last night?" He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug and she sighed. "Well. You win some and you lose some, I suppose."

They sat together quietly for a few minutes, and Hermione was thinking about mentioning that she might go home for a bit. He did really seem to be doing much better. He didn't look especially stressed, and his skin had returned to its usual pallor, rather than the ghost-like colouring of the past few days. His hand wasn't shaking at all as it brushed atop her curls. She wracked back through her brain trying to think of what she knew about withdrawal symptoms but came up rather blank. If all that he was left with now was a bit of trouble falling asleep and the craving to have a drink, it seemed like they'd at least accomplished something.

Suddenly, Draco stilled his hand on her hair, and she could feel him inhale deeply. "My father died." He said, all at once, and she sat up so quickly she nearly knocked into him.

"What?!"

Draco looked down at his lap, where her head had been, and looked at his nails as if he were inspecting them for chips. "Yes. In Azkaban. He's been sick for a few months now, but it's not as if they have medical care there."

Hermione frowned, and he looked directly at her, as if he was daring her to speak.

"That's why I missed those few days of work. It was Sunday. He died on Sunday and I just… I don't fucking care about him, Granger. But..." Draco was clenching his hand into a fist and Hermione covered it with her own hand.

"He was still your father," she said.

"Fuck," Draco mumbled. "He's the reason I am who I am, and I do not mean that in a positive way. But I can't… he's still dead. And I figured he would want to be toasted, with the good whisky. When I ran out of good whisky I drank the mediocre stuff. Then I tripped over the last bottle of the shit whisky."

"And then I found you." Hermione finished, and he nodded once.

"I wasn't worth your time." He mumbled, and Hermione sighed, reaching out to lift his chin so that she could look at him.

"I don't know how many more ways to tell you that I don't actually care what you think. Because I think you were. I think you are. 'Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.'"

The corners of Draco's lips briefly quirked up into a small smile, before he ducked his head. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, and a few moments passed as he seemed to collect himself. Hermione's fingers gently brushed back and forth against his cheekbone, glad he'd finally shaved off the stubble that had accumulated over the past few days. Finally, Draco gruffly cleared his throat and raised his head. He caught Hermione's eyes for the briefest second, then looked towards the window, his eyes shining.

"I'm not sure I know that one," he said, clearing his throat once more.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, but Hermione smiled all the same.

"Don't worry," she said, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw and lowering her head back to his chest. "I'll teach you."

A/N: Whoosh, that was a heavy one. I would also just like to make it clear that alcoholism is a very serious disease and I did my best in this chapter to not make light of it, but I'm sorry in advance if I've offended anyone with my portrayal. If you've been paying attention, you probably noticed hints of it throughout the entire story so far. I would also like to make it clear that recovering from alcoholism is not an easy happy fun process - I tried to capture the difficulties of it while not making this chapter totally horrible. From my understanding, the first three days are typically the worst, but this is something Draco is going to spend his entire life dealing with and I think it's just important to say that now. As always, I applied a little artistic license, but I still want these characters struggles to feel real and legitimate, and I hope I've done an alright job there!

Thanks as always to my beautiful betas, nymphadoraholtzmann & theskiddlyboop!

The quote this week is by Khalil Gibran. I first saw it in Shayalonnie's BRILLIANT The Debt of Time and fell deeply in love with it. I didn't so much mean to use it here, but I also couldn't really stop myself.

This chapter was not edited at all, but to make sure you don't miss any scenes you should head over to ao3 where it's posted under the same name & username as here!