Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.
You totally delivered on reviews, so I'm totally delivering on another chapter. Now just in case you've forgotten, I'm not going to be posting over the weekend... I need the extra time to catch up on writing some of next week's chapters, especially given that my doggie emergency ate up what would otherwise have been time to make Lucius do naughty things. Yeah, you read right. Muahaha. HOWEVER, please review, and you'll have a shiny new chapter in your inbox on Monday (and I will have my dog back! woo!).
As an aside, don't kill me for ending on a giant fucking cliffie... I didn't plan it that way! For serious! Kisses! *ducks*
Hermione apparated in the woods next to her building and threw on the cloak with a shudder. She could feel the cold sweat dripping down her body, slowly soaking through her clothes. It was ten at night but the reporters were still out, camped by the main doors, hoping to see something newsworthy.
"Fuckers," she whispered, resisting the urge to burst into tears right there. Dinner had been pure torture, sitting across from Harry and pretenting nothing was wrong when all she wanted to do was run back home and find her pills. At one point her feet trembled so hard the table shook and knocked over their glasses of water. She laughed it off, blaming it on an unsteady table leg, trying to ignore her clammy hands and mounting nausea as she mopped up the mess. By the end of the meal, her vision was swimming so violently it was a miracle she could even apparate without splinching herself.
She broke into a run, circling around the back of the building to use the basement entrance that was only meant for deliveries. Pain was starting to radiate through her body, as though she had bruised all her bones right down to her fingers. A whimper escaped her lips as she slipped through the old door, unseen by the reporters hovering on the other side of the building. Waiting for the lift seemed too risky, and too close to the main entrance anyway, so she ducked into the stairwell and began dragging herself up each flight until she reached the fourth floor, exhausted and barely able to stand by the end of it. She pulled the cloak tightly around her and leaned heavily on the wall, pushing herself slowly towards her door, one foot in front of the other, step by sluggish step. Door number forty-three. Plain brown with gold numbers. She could make it. She could do this.
Except she couldn't, not really. She knew why she wanted to get home so badly. Quitting cold turkey was an impossible idea. It was a charming lie, but it was going to kill her. She had been choking down the nasty liquid from the hospital diligently, taking it until she knew she had reached the maximum amount, and she still felt like she was drowning. No green medicine would help her now, but one pill would take away the edge. One pill, just one, to help her body calm down. It wasn't regression. It was sanity.
She reached her door and started crying with joy. Stumbling in like a drunk, she half ran, half crawled to the washroom to find her oasis: an old glass jar stuffed to the brim with pills. She opened the cupboard expectantly.
Outside, the group of reporters looked around, startled, when an anguished howl echoed in the distance.
"What the bloody hell was that?" said one.
"Animal in the woods, I reckon," said another. "Nothing to worry about."
Inside, Hermione sobbed on the floor. They were gone. All her pills were gone. Fucking Harry. What was he thinking, meddling in her affairs? Did he think she couldn't be trusted? All she wanted was one. One little pill to help her calm down. One little pill to lull her to sleep. One little pill.
Severe chills overtook her body and her teeth began to chatter, her lips nearly blue. Hermione sat up with great effort and began stripping off all her clothes, delirious with pain, moaning to herself and uttering every curse word she knew. Stretching her arm, she managed to turn on the shower, and hot, steamy water began to pour out of the pipe. Not feeling strong enough to stand, Hermione pulled herself into the bath and sat under the water, watching it swirl down the drain for an hour until the tap ran cold, shivering all the while.
Life with drugs had nearly killed her, but life without drugs suddenly seemed worse.
Draco walked up the the front step of Trebax and let himself in. It was 7 a.m., uncommonly early for him to be awake, let alone at work. It was worth it though. There seemed to be fewer reporters out at this hour, and he had managed to escape his building without having to stun anyone. A strong cup of tea and some breakfast would wake him up properly, and by the time Granger and Blaise arrived, he'd be nearly functional.
Granger. He had dreamed about her again. It became clear after he had woken up for the fourth time that she was occupying his thoughts with alarming intensity, saturating his brain like water to a sponge. He could tell himself he didn't care about how she was doing, but his mind strongly disagreed. He was worried. It was stupid, but true. Worried Harry had been right when he said she was hiding things from everyone. Worried about what she would do once she got home and found that Harry had removed her pills. Worried he'd find her in the woods again, dead by her own hand. He was worried about someone he used to hate and it was driving him bloody mental. The only other people he ever worried about were his parents. It simply wasn't something he did. Concern was for the weak. Malfoys didn't engage in such activities.
"Get out of my head, woman," he muttered as he made him way up the old stone steps to the second floor. She probably wouldn't be in for another couple of hours. That was plenty of time to whip his brain into shape and prepare for whatever crazy plan she had readied for the day. Hadn't she mentioned something about a press conference? That would take all his patience, not to mention a glass of Firewhiskey for good measure. God he hated reporters.
Draco marched over the threshold at top speed and then froze.
Hermione was at her desk, her head resting on a book, fast asleep. Draco exhaled cautiously and walked quietly towards her, taking in the strange sight. Her clothes were rumpled and damp. Her hair was mostly wet, dry only at the tips and curling in all directions. She had dark circles around her eyes and her fingernails had been chewed down to the quick. Quiet whimpers escaped her lips. Tear tracks stained her cheeks. Lips cracked and dry from chewing at them nervously. She looked completely unguarded, almost ghostlike, vulnerable and raw. Nothing like how she was in public. Nothing like how she would probably be if she knew she was being watched.
Something funny twitched in his chest. Draco came to an uncomfortable realization.
Harry had been right. Bloody hell, the tosser has been right. The truth was right in front of him: she was so good at pretending that nobody knew what was going on beneath the surface. The "public" Hermione was in many ways the same girl he'd known at Hogwarts. Smart. Confident. Together. The same one who marched into his office yesterday and turned his business around. Everyone, including Harry, Blaise and the Weasel, saw that version of her. The invincible Hermione Granger, War hero, the one who collapses from exhaustion rather than drugs. And why shouldn't they believe it? She covered up her problems masterfully, even managing to hide a raging addiction for years from her loved ones. If she hadn't overdosed, they would have been none the wiser.
But here she was, obviously struggling. A hidden mess. How long had she been sleeping here? Why were her clothes wet and her hair damp? What had happened after her dinner the night before? Clearly, all was not well, but Draco knew the game would continue. Maybe she didn't want to seem weak, or maybe she didn't want to trouble anyone with her problems, but either way, the dark parts of her life were kept under lock and key. Draco wondered for a moment if she simply needed to be told: You're allowed to hurt when your fiance fucks off on you. You're allowed to hurt when your parents disappear. You're allowed to seek help when you need it.
Trouble was that Draco completely understood where she was coming from. He knew all about pretending. He was exceptionally good at it. Blaise and his parents knew him better than anyone else, and yet he still chose to hide things from them. His problems were his own and he wanted to keep it that way. He and Granger had far more in common than he liked.
Perhaps because of that, he wasn't in the mood to blow her cover right now.
Draco backed out of the room silently and tip toed down the stone stairs, letting himself out of the building. Maybe there was no need to be at the office this early after all. He could grab some food at a cafe, something with a booth for privacy, and catch up on some work. Hopefully she would be up by 9 a.m., because Blaise was nothing if not punctual. They would manage the day's chores then.
In the meantime, he had to come to terms with the fact that the stakes had changed. The Hermione who was asleep at the Trebax offices was fragile, extremely so, and she was wearing herself down by trying to hide it. If Draco wanted her to stay alive, both for the sake of his business and the sake of his conscience, he would have to monitor her. The irony wasn't lost on him - he had snapped at Harry for making the very same suggestion - but that was before he had solid proof of her condition. It wouldn't do to have her crumble now. She needed a watchful eye, and since nobody else could fill the role, he would provide it as best he could. Blaise didn't need to know, and Harry sure as hell didn't need to know... Draco refused to give Wonder Boy the satisfaction. His mission now was to keep her safe while also keeping quiet about it.
Merlin's balls, this was going to be inconvenient.
Two hours later on the dot, Draco stormed up the cobblestone street that lead to his office, snarling at anyone who got in his way. Why did he even bother to hope that he'd be able to have a quiet breakfast somewhere? What a naive expectation. He'd managed to find a small cafe and settled in, ready to kill some time with work and food, maybe get Granger off his brain for once. That's when the stupidity began.
News of Hermione's rescue was everywhere now, and with that news came the salivating masses hoping to catch a glimpse of their newest hero. His table was mobbed. First came the requests for autographs, which he staunchly refused to give, hoping that if he was firm, he'd be left alone. Then came the women, some alone, some in packs, slathered in make-up and batting their eyes in the most irritating manner. He was so hard up for a fuck that he almost considered it, but he couldn't get past the phoniness of it all. He'd rather wank himself in the middle of the cafe than be taken for a fool by some witch hoping to get famous. What a joke. Just when he had finally scared everyone off, using some choice words that were certainly not befitting of a supposed hero, the reporters showed up. That was it. Clearly he wasn't going to be left alone. He tossed a few coins on the table and left, elbowing a chap from Witch Weekly in the jaw when he looked like he might be close to blocking the exit.
It was amazing, wasn't it? The same people who would have left his family to die were now ready to kiss his feet. What utter madness. It was attention he had lusted after for years, but now that he had it, it only made him angry. Opportunists, the lot of them. Is this what Potter had to deal with? No small wonder why he had run away to France.
With a grateful sigh, Draco slipped into the front door of Trebax, taking two stairs at a time to get the fuck away from the street. He realized as he climbed that despite the disaster at the cafe, he did manage one thing: he hadn't been focused on Hermione at all, too preoccupied with his escape. Now that he was back, he had no idea what he might find. Was she awake? Had Blaise arrived? Was she still a fragile mess, recovering from whatever hell she had endured overnight? Shite, he hadn't really prepared himself for what state she might be in. He stepped over the threshold cautiously, slightly out of breath, still simmering a bit from the anger coursing through his veins.
"Morning Draco," said Hermione. "You look flustered. Everything okay?"
He stared. She had changed her clothes, now outfitted in a smart dress shirt and tweed skirt. Her hair was done up in a loose ponytail, the frayed curls he'd seen earlier that day were now shiny and soft. The face that was deathly pale only two hours earlier now had a healthy glow. The tear tracks were gone. The air smelled faintly of magnolia. It looked like nothing had happened, like the ghost he saw that morning didn't exist at all.
Faker, he thought, although without much venom. Even with what he knew, she was still a more pleasant sight than those sycophants at the cafe. She gave him an encouraging smile. His heart did a weird fluttery thing. He made a mental note to get that checked out.
"I hate people," he said hoarsely, not wanting to explain his morning beyond that.
"I'm shocked," she responded with a straight face.
He rolled his eyes at her flippancy, and then looked at her suspiciously, trying to find evidence that he hadn't imagined what he saw this morning. What was she using... Glamour charms? Was she living on Pepper-Up Potion? She didn't even look tired. Fuck she was good. His grouchiness returned tenfold, and he walked briskly into his office, hoping for a moment of silence to gather his thoughts. How was he supposed to keep an eye on her when she covered her tracks so well? Would he even know if she relapsed? Would he be able to tell if she even fed herself?
"Morning sunshine," said Blaise, who was in the process of dropping off a stack of documents on his desk.
Draco groaned and threw himself down in his chair, covering his eyes with his hands. Then there was the issue of Blaise wanting to shag Granger against every piece of furniture in the office. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
"Please, try not to look so happy to see me," Blaise pouted. "Hermione has some good news for you. She was already here when I arrived, working away. Bloody brilliant, that girl. Couldn't believe the news when she told me, but then she showed me the numbers. Want to hear it?"
"Hear what?" he grimaced, only half listening, his head starting to ache. Blaise was right smitten with her wasn't he? Hermione this and Hermione that. If only he knew what lurked beneath. She wasn't some bimbo witch with an ancestral account at Gringott's, which was Blaise's usual poison. She was a closet recovering junkie with trust issues. A genius, but a total disaster. Maybe Draco could put a tracking device on her... Have it alert him when she went anywhere near a Muggle pharmacy. Would that even work?
"To hear that you're officially out of debt," Hermione said, walking into his office. "I confirmed enough orders this morning to cover everything you owe, and then a bit extra."
The noise in Draco's head went quiet. His eyes met hers. "I'm sorry?" he said, convinced he had misheard. There was no way she had said what he thought. Simply no way.
"You're out of debt," she said. "Congratulations!"
There was a long silence as Draco processed the information.
"Granger..." he said slowly. "You've been working here for one day."
"I realize that," she said.
"One day," he said again, raising up his finger for emphasis, "And you've gotten the business out of debt. Do you know how much debt we were carrying yesterday morning?"
"Enough to make your lenders mighty unpleasant," she said, cheerfully. "Anyway, they won't bother you anymore. You got so many advance orders and loan pardons that you're back to a clean slate. The debt was one of my goals, so I'm relieved that's met. After the press conference I'll get working on the rest of them."
Draco stared. "Dare I ask what your other goals are?" he said, warily, the shock from the good news still sinking in. He could scarcely believe it. That meant he'd never be harassed by a creditor again. That meant he could finally send proper money to his parents.
"Oh, predictable things," she shrugged. "Refreshing the brand. Aligning us with charities. I've started moving some of those files along. The only one I haven't had any luck with is how Stacey McLorrow stole those plans, but I'll figure it out eventually."
Blaise growled at the memory of the incident.
Draco simply blinked. Out of debt? Really? Fuck, if it was true, she could do anything she wanted with the business. Go ahead and align them with every charity on the planet. He didn't care. He was out of debt.
"I think we should leave Draco to think about the news, Hermione," Blaise said, observing his friend. "I'm going to go grab a bite. Do you two want anything?"
Hermione shook her head and Draco blinked again.
"Okay..." Blaise said, shooting a look of mild concern at Draco. "I'll be back soon." He left Draco's office, and Hermione followed, glancing back towards Draco over her shoulder.
Draco sat in the empty office. Out of debt. Sweet Merlin, he was out of debt. As much as he might have wished for this, he never really expected it to happen. Blaise was always the optimist. Draco expected catastrophic failure.
But it had happened. That unstable, slightly insane woman he'd taunted for years had made it happen.
Out of debt.
Draco stood up, and in a couple of long strides, was hovering in front of Hermione's desk. She looked up, her quill still moving. "Blaise left already," she said. "He won't be but a few minutes, I'm sure."
With another long stride, Draco walked around the desk to where she was sitting, hauled her up by her arm, and hugged her tightly.
She gasped in surprise, arms hanging limply by her side. He didn't care. He didn't care if she hugged him back or if she was repulsed. He was out of debt.
"Granger, I don't know how to thank you," he said, his voice unexpectedly thick with emotion.
"Um, you saved my life," she said. Her voice was quite muffled, since her face was being crushed into his chest. "That's thanks enough."
"It's not enough," he said, shaking his head.
"It is, actually," she said, still muffled.
"Stop arguing. Let me do more. Let me pay you a salary."
"Maybe once everything has stabilized," she said, tilting her head up and taking a deep breath of air. "We'll talk about it in a month or so. But yes, you saving my life is enough. This is me trying to thank you, remember."
He squeezed her one last time and then let her go, slightly embarrassed at his emotional display. He hadn't planned on hugging her when he walked out here. He had only planned on thanking her. Now he was breathing in magnolia and remembering the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest, her waist pressed against his stomach, her soft hair tickling his chin. He had felt those things, and he wasn't going to be able to forget them. Fuck.
She blushed and cleared her throat.
"I've got to go back to my office," he said, awkwardly. "I have very important things to do."
"Right," she said.
He practically dove through the entry and slammed the door behind him. Jesus, why did he do that? Why did he have to hug her? Where the hell did that come from? Aside from pecking his mother on the cheek when he went to visit, he had been completely bereft of genuine female contact since Pansy ran off to Russia.
But Granger? He had hugged her. Willingly. Pulled her out of her chair to do it, in fact. Fuck.
She must be completely freaked out. He had to apologize. Frantically, he jumped back out of his chair and rushed towards the door, throwing it open and stepping into the main room, already rattling through potential explanations in his head.
Except that when he looked up, he knew something was very wrong.