Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.
Hey, lots of reviews! Amazing. You know what that means... A new chapter! BTW, if you noticed something funky with the text yesterday and messaged me to let me know, THANK YOU. Kinks of that nature are not the kind of kinks I like in my stories. All fixed. xo
"No no no..." was all he could think to whisper as he crouched beside her, one hand on her freezing cold cheek. She looked dead, she was so pale. Fuck, what if she was dead? His hands began to shake at the thought. He'd seen enough death in his short life. He didn't want any more.
The spell came to him suddenly, and he swore. Goddamnit, he had never wanted to use those wretched words again. His mother had taught it to him at the Manor when he was sent to check on torture victims. One incantation to tell if they were still alive or not. He knew the words. He had performed that spell more times than he ever cared to count. It was burned into his brain, as were the faces of all those people he had buried, mangled and bloody, some missing eyes, teeth, tongues, limbs. Every time he said the words, he prayed they were dead. Surviving that sort of violence only meant they would have to endure it a second time.
It would take two seconds to perform the spell on her. Two seconds to know the truth.
But the answer was scaring him out of his wits.
What if she was dead? He would be blamed. The press had been waiting years for this - the evil Malfoy heir murdering childhood nemesis and Muggle-born War hero Hermione Granger. Who needed the truth when there was a story to sell? They'd forget Weasley even existed.
But what if she was alive? What if he could save her? According to the public, Draco Malfoy didn't save people. He was forever the devil incarnate, the bad seed. He didn't do good things.
Maybe they were right about him. After all, Malfoys had a long record of helping only themselves and saving only their own. Hermione wasn't family. She wasn't even a friend. He could walk away and let his conscience manage the outcome, couldn't he?
He looked down at her pale face, his stomach turning at the slow trickle of blood dripping down her jawline. Public perception or not, walking away from her seemed insane, especially when there was a chance she might have survived whatever happened to her. He needed to decide. He needed to decide now.
With a furtive glance around the darkening woods, he made his choice. If she was dead, he would leave her there and send an anonymous tip to the Ministry. His life was already in ruins. Being caught with her body would lend him in Azkaban faster than you could say Dumbledore.
If she was alive... Well... He would do what he could.
"Verificare vitae," he whispered, pointing his wand at her chest.
It glowed blue.
She was alive.
He let out a shaky breath, reeling with relief. Leaning forward and gathering her up in his arms, he whispered a quick "Hold tight, Granger," into her ear before he apparated away.
Draco jolted awake in the uncomfortable hospital chair, momentarily panicked that he had fallen asleep. His eyes swept the room. No media. No Aurors. Nothing but a sleeping Hermione in a quiet room, some colour on her cheeks and her mouth cleaned of blood.
"Bloody hell," he whispered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had bribed the Healer on duty to keep everything quiet. The irony wasn't lost on him. Once upon a time he wouldn't have blinked at handing over a bribe. This time he had handed over his grocery money.
For fucking Granger.
He must be losing his mind.
The clock on the wall said it was 3 a.m. He had been sitting here for hours. To his frustration, although the Healers managed to save Hermione, they wouldn't explain her condition to him.
"I found her," he had argued while they wheeled her away. "I fucking brought her here!"
"You're not family," snapped the Healer unapologetically, giving him a look of pure disdain. He knew the expression all too well - it was the same look of hatred everyone gave him. After all, he was a Malfoy. "Now who should we call?"
Fuming, he told them to call the only person he could think of. All he could do now was wait.
Hermione mumbled something in her sleep, and Draco glanced over. The leaves and dirt were gone from her hair, leaving the same mess of curls that were uniquely hers. The blood that had dripped down her jaw and onto her neck was cleaned up, much to his relief. Some scratches on her chin, some bruising on her cheeks, but otherwise she looked a million times better than the near-corpse he had found in the forest. His eyes trailed over her body again, resting on the exposed skin of her forearm. Something red caught his attention. Cautiously, he reached over and moved her arm to get a better look.
He pulled his hand away like he had been burned. Mudblood. The word had never healed. Bella's handiwork was still scratched into her skin as though it had been done yesterday. The very thought made him feel ill. He had been trying to forget about that sickening day since the moment it happened. He had failed, just like he failed at everything else. Now he was staring his reminder in the face.
Malfoys didn't do good things. Merlin, why was he even here?
The hospital door slammed open, causing Draco to jump out of his chair with his wand drawn.
A panting Harry Potter stared back at him.
Draco lowered the wand awkwardly. "I... I didn't know who else to call," he said, still trying to push the sight of Hermione's damaged arm out of his mind. "I'm sorry."
Harry didn't respond, letting his eyes rest on Hermione's small frame.
"Is she okay?" he said, his voice heavy with fear.
"She'll live, but they won't tell me anything else," Draco responded.
Harry walked over slowly, as though in a trance. He leaned in and touched Hermione's cheek, resting his hand on top of hers and examining her face for injuries.
"You found her?" he said, hoarsely.
"Yeah. Went for a walk along my usual route and saw her in the woods," Draco said, watching Harry with interest. He had been waiting for some sort of accusation from Boy Wonder. Perhaps it was still coming.
"It's Ron's fault, isn't it," Harry said, something dark slipping into his tone.
That was not the accusation he had expected. Draco nodded, unwilling to open up that particular can of worms in front of present company. Talking about Weasley would make him yell, and yelling here would probably land him in jail.
"That fucking tosspot," Harry seethed. "Screwing around behind her back. I'm going to murder him myself."
"I can't tell if you're joking Potter, but I rather hope you aren't," Draco said, dryly.
Harry looked up, his expression unreadable.
"Malfoy," he said, standing up straight, his voice much stronger. He walked over to Draco, and Draco tensed out of habit.
Harry held out his hand.
"I honestly can't thank you enough," he said. "I owe you a huge debt."
Draco stared at the outstretched hand before taking it cautiously.
"Don't mention it," he replied. He was tempted to clarify that this was not the sort of thing Malfoys usually did, and that it wouldn't happen again, but he kept quiet.
"And thank you for calling me and not Ron. She doesn't need more of his shite right now."
"I would never willingly call that bastard," Draco said, unwilling to disguise the venom in his voice. This whole interaction was puzzling him. When he told the Healer to call Harry, he had been prepared for a confrontation and a duel, not a genuine 'thank you.' All he remembered was that Harry had moved to France after the Final Battle, likely to try and distance himself from all the misery that followed. He'd lost his girlfriend in the fighting too, hadn't he? The Weasley girl? Couldn't really blame the bloke for wanting to disappear. "Besides, I didn't really know how to reach her parents."
"They're missing," said Harry. "Have been since the War."
"I didn't realize," said Draco.
"Not a lot of people know," Harry shrugged.
Just then, the same Healer walked in who had brushed Draco off earlier. He glared at her.
"Ah, Mister Potter," she beamed at Harry. "I was wondering when - "
"I'm family," he said, cutting her off brusquely.
"Pardon?" she said.
"I'm family. I'm listed on her file as family. You can check, but I want to know what's going on."
The Healer frowned and flipped through the files she was holding. A look of surprise took over her face.
"Apparently you are," she said, looking warily at Draco. "Perhaps Mister Malfoy could - "
"He can stay," Harry said, cutting her off again. "I suspect she'd be dead if it wasn't for him, am I right?"
The Healer looked guiltily at the two men. "Well, yes. It was quite lucky she was found when she was. Any longer in her condition and she wouldn't have made it."
Draco noticed Harry setting his jaw angrily. "Then I see no reason for him to leave. Now can you please explain what's wrong with her? I'm guessing she didn't end up half dead in the woods by accident."
The Healer looked between the two men, apparently trying to decide if she wanted to speak about Hermione's condition in front of a Malfoy. In the end, she gestured to the chairs and they all sat down.
"Are either of you familiar with Dilaudid?" she asked. Draco and Harry shook their heads. "It's a Muggle painkiller. Very strong. It seems Miss Granger has been using it excessively for the past several years."
"When you say excessively..." Harry began.
"I mean she is heavily addicted," said the Healer. "When you found her, Mister Malfoy, she had taken too much of the drug and had probably collapsed by the river."
"Jesus," Harry whispered, taking off his glasses.
"And all the blood?" Draco asked, remembering the sickening sight of the dark liquid seeping out of her mouth.
"The overdose was causing seizures. If I had to guess, I'd say she had several before completely losing consciousness. She bit her tongue quite badly in the process. It could have actually drowned her if it hadn't dripped out - quite a stroke of luck."
"Luck," Draco echoed, numbly. The thought of Hermione drowning in her own blood made his head spin. He didn't know things were this bad. How could he? The misguided belief that her life was some idyllic daydream was an embarrassingly gross assumption on his part. In reality, he knew nothing about her. Granger the perfect student had become Granger with real problems, just like him.
"Now I understand Miss Granger has been under some stress recently - "
"Yeah, her loser boyfriend shags everything with a vagina," snapped Draco, still trying to absorb the knowledge that Hermione was addicted to Muggle drugs. "That's pretty stressful."
The Healer glared at Draco before continuing. "As I was saying, perhaps her personal problems have been going on longer than she was letting on. That's just speculation, of course, but an addiction of this magnitude suggests that she may have been trying to cope by abusing the medication."
"Poor 'Mione," Harry said, his voice muffled by his hands. "I had no idea."
"She will need to stay here until midday for treatment, but after that, she will be free to go," said the Healer, standing up. "Her system took quite a beating with the pills - the habit must stop, unless she wishes to do irreparable damage. We will give her some potion to help with any withdrawals she might experience, but I'm afraid it's largely experimental. We don't deal with Muggle pharmaceuticals very often. Please don't hesitate to contact me should you have any questions, Mister Potter." She said the last word with extra emphasis to underscore the fact that she did not want to hear another word from Draco. Draco sneered at her in return.
After the Healer left, both men stayed put in their chairs, trying to make sense of everything they'd heard.
"How could she even get access to those drugs?" Draco said, eventually. "Aren't they fairly regulated in the Muggle world?"
"I have a theory about that," said Harry. "Her parents were both dentists. I'm willing to bet that if I search her flat, I'll find several prescription pads that she's been filling out."
"Merlin," Draco breathed. "I thought she had the perfect life. Shows how much I know."
"You're telling me," Harry said, wringing his hands. "I'm supposed to be her best friend and I didn't even know she was addicted to painkillers."
"It's not your fault, Potter," said Draco, realizing uncomfortably that he was reassuring someone who he had always hated. Now with them both sitting here, he felt surprisingly indifferent. Funny how quickly things changed. "It's not like you've been nearby."
"But that's the problem," said Harry, looking up. "I haven't been around. I wanted to get out of the public eye and Hermione's had nobody to turn to. Maybe I could have helped her. God knows what she's been dealing with... Her parents are missing, things are a mess with Ron... I know she had trouble dealing with the aftermath of the War. She needed a friend and I wasn't there. She couldn't even turn to her own bloody fiance for help."
"I don't claim to know Granger all that well, but I highly doubt she blames you for anything," said Draco with a shrug. "She's not the type."
"She doesn't need to," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I blame myself."
"Blame the red-headed git if you're going to blame anyone," Draco said, stifling a yawn. "I doubt she would have overdosed if he hadn't made her a laughingstock on the cover of every newspaper in the hemisphere. Doesn't do much for one's stress levels, I can tell you that from first hand experience." He yawned again and didn't fight it this time. He could barely hold his eyes open. Sleep came sporadically on a good night - this was pushing his limits. "Listen Potter, now that you're here, I'm going home. I doubt Granger would be happy to see my face when she wakes up."
"Why do you say that?" Harry asked, puzzled.
Draco looked at him with a frown. Surely he wasn't that naive?
"I'm a Malfoy, Potter. You saw the way that Healer looked at me. I'm a walking bad luck omen. I'm the scourge of society."
"Come on," Harry snorted, much to Draco's surprise. "You sound like you've been drinking the Ministry Kool-Aid."
"The what?" Draco asked.
"The Kool... Never mind. What I mean to say is, you sound like you believe what the gossip rags blather on about."
Draco let out a dry laugh. "You might too if you saw the joke my life has become. And on that note, I want to ask you for one thing."
"Anything," said Harry, completely seriously.
"Don't tell Granger about me. Just make something up. I don't want to get caught up in any of this. I've got problems enough."
"Seriously? I think she ought to know who saved her," Harry said with a frown.
"Just promise me," Draco said, tersely. "It's all I ask for in exchange."
"Fine, fine," Harry replied, his hands up in surrender. "But she's not going to like me keeping anything from her. I'm sure you remember how she can be."
"I'm confident you'll think of something," Draco said, taking one last look at Hermione's sleeping face. So Gryffindor's princess was a closet junkie. He never would have guessed. Maybe everyone had something to hide after all. It was a surprisingly depressing thought.
With a nod to the saviour of the wizarding world, Draco turned on his heel and walked out. "Evening, Potter."
Hermione woke up feeling like she had been kicked in the head. The buzzing in her ears told her she was alive, but the pain in her body made her wish that she wasn't. It was a throbbing, searing ache that attacked her nerves, balling her muscles into angry fists of agony. What the hell had happened?
And her mouth - it felt like she had swallowed a bag of cotton balls. She tried to move her tongue, and was rewarded with a sharp pain that made her whimper.
"Hermione?" said a voice.
Harry. She couldn't speak, she couldn't even open her eyes, but she knew that voice. She hadn't heard it in so long. Tears began leaking down the side of her face before she even registered that she was crying.
Soft fingers were touching her cheeks, and she felt a kiss being placed on her forehead.
"It's going to be okay, love. I'm here," murmured the voice. "I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you."
She sobbed quietly, willing her eyes to open. Slowly, with effort, they did. A blurry vision of Harry stood in front of her. His hair had gotten a bit shaggy, and he was unshaven, but she had never been so happy to see him in her life.
"Harry," she said, her voice sounding like sandpaper. Another sharp pain in her mouth.
"Don't speak," he said quickly. "You've damaged your tongue. It's still healing."
"What happened?" she mumbled, ignoring his advice.
"You... You were found. Unconscious by the river. You were barely alive 'Mione, but they got you fixed up in time."
She frowned, trying to think back. Why would she be...
The memories hit her like a brick wall. Ron. Ron and his most recent conquest. Ron and all his other dalliances over the years, stupidly thinking she wouldn't catch on. Her, stubbornly hanging onto the relationship, convinced he was still worth it, after all that. Her parents, gone like they never existed, despite all of her searching. Harry being so far away. Burying all those bodies, face after face of people she knew. Constantly having to stay strong for everyone else. The crippling anxiety that seemed to get worse as time went on. Her, feeling isolated and alone, year after year. That empty space inside of her growing like the plague. No control over anything, like a carousel from hell.
It was all too much.
The pills. The sweet escape they offered her, dulling everything, in the end. They gave her comfort nobody else could. They gave her the illusion of control. That was enough for her.
The press, hounding her after that horrible cover story. Exposing her farce of a life. Showing everyone that she was a fraud. She wasn't strong after all.
Her, incapable of dealing with it anymore. The trauma. The anxiety. The sadness. The pretending, oh God, the pretending. She had gotten so good at it that nobody had even caught on.
More pills.
The bathroom tile making all those funny shapes.
What had she done? Everything after the bathroom tile was gone from her mind. Did she take too much? Did she overdose? Harry said she was barely alive when she was found.
Oh no.
That meant... That meant Harry knew. Her secret was out. She had sworn she'd take it to the grave, and she had failed at that too. Harry knew.
Please no.
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away from Harry, ashamed. Nobody was supposed to find out. It was a weakness she was happy to hide, always telling herself she would quit before being discovered. How had she faked her way through five years of dependency only to slip up now?
"You don't need to explain, Hermione," he said, gently. "I'm not here to judge you. I just wish you had told me."
Yeah right. Tell him that her ability to handle stress had become non-existant? That she couldn't so much as deal with a parking ticket without resorting to drugs? She wanted to respond that he was always busy, always too busy to talk to her about anything other than superficial pleasantries, that she didn't want to place that kind of a burden on him anyway. Turns out it had happened regardless. Here they were in a hospital, and she had nearly died because of her own reckless habit. Her tongue was throbbing.
With a squeak, the hospital doors swung open, and a woman in a white lab coat with a severe expression on her face walked in.
"Ah, Miss Granger. Nice to see that you are awake!" the Healer said. "We were quite worried about you."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was shushed quiet.
"Your tongue is healing, dear. Give it a couple more hours of rest. I can explain everything in more detail later. You're very lucky to be alive - you almost didn't make it! Thank goodness you were found by Mister - "
The woman was silenced by a scathing look from Harry. Hermione looked between the two of them, confused.
"By the gentleman who happened to be walking along the river," finished the Healer, with a nervous smile. "Drink this medication now, dear. I'll be back shortly."
The woman nearly jogged out of the room.
Hermione frowned to herself, turning things over in her sluggish mind, the horror of having her secret discovered weighing heavily on her. Still, that was odd. Something was wrong with that interaction. She sipped the nasty green medication.
"Who found me, Harry?" she said, slowly, swallowing with a grimace. "Who saved me?"
"Just a bloke from the neighbourhood," he said, putting on a cheerful smile that she recognized from the few times he'd tried to lie to her. "Brought you in and then left. Never got his name."
Even with a sluggish mind, Hermione was smarter than your average witch. Even with a drug habit, she could sniff out her best friend inventing a story. There was a reason she had been able to cover it up all these years. She had become the better liar, simple as that.
Harry had not.
"Really? Just dropped me off and took off?"
"Mmhmm," he nodded, fidgeting slightly with his hands. "Pity. Would have liked to thank him."
"Me too," she said, eyeing his nervous behaviour. Rubbish, she thought. Perhaps Harry had forgotten who he was dealing with, but she was not the type to let a bad lie go unexamined, recovery or not. She would find out. Trouble was, if he was bothering to lie at all, he wasn't going to just come right out and say it. Harry was nearly as stubborn as she was.
She blinked and scrunched up her face at the pain in her head. The foul medication was clouding her thoughts. She needed to buy a bit of time to think this over. It was easier to push away her feelings of shame when she had a problem to solve. This was a puzzle, and she would put it together, piece by piece.
An idea came to her.
"Harry? Could you tell me about your life? Tell me about France. It's been so long since you've updated me."
His eyes lit up and he began talking. He had bought an old farmhouse. He even had chickens. Life was quiet there, which was exactly what he needed. He talked and talked and talked, Hermione drifting in and out of alertness, sometimes hearing his tales and sometimes ruminating on the identity of her rescuer. Why was Harry lying? Who was he lying for? The incident was just one giant black hole in her mind. Nothing helpful to pull from.
Harry's voice dipped and hummed in her ears as he chatted, and slowly, Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, the ache of her tongue subsiding as she drifted off to sleep.