Being strung out on potions was not a good look on anyone, least of all Draco Malfoy. Through the reflection in the brandy glass, his bloodshot eyes clashed with his pale complexion and brought out the wrong highlights in his otherwise platinum hair. Despite the off-putting appearance, he felt bloody fantastic.

His opponents around the poker table didn't give a flying arse about his half-fried brain or the way he couldn't keep his concentration on the card game. All they cared about was how long it would take him to throw his dwindling stack of chips into the pot, just to save face.

"I have a very nice face," he drawled, looking around the table.

Wait a minute. Did he just say that out loud?

The client to his right stared at his cards and half-raised a thin eyebrow in Draco's direction. The hairy one next to him tapped his fingers against the table in a nervous rhythm and stared at Draco, waiting for the self-control to slip.

Oh, yeah. He'd probably said a lot of stupid shite in the last thirty minutes. He checked his watch, verifying that yes, in the thirty tense minutes he'd been sitting here, he was still breathing, still hadn't collapsed in a pool of his own blood, and was still running his mouth.

Up until this moment, Draco had wagered that he could win back the pot, but the tingling in his fingers signaled the after effects of the high were almost upon him. His fuzzy brain reminded him that his clients were all impatiently waiting for the inevitable crash, that he had five minutes, at the most, to disappear before his dignity took a big hit.

As of right now, he didn't see a way to retreat gracefully into the privacy of his office, let alone utter a plausible reason to get out of this chair.

Regret. That was his life.

This potion wasn't a vampire cocktail. It was for these blokes, the ones who dealt death as easily as they dealt their cards. It hadn't taken Draco too long to figure out that desperation came in all shapes, sizes, and flavors. Being a connoisseur of desperation himself, he understood how people on the edge of their sanity needed a moment to forget their reality, if only to garner the strength to move forward. They were also willing to pay handsomely for the privilege.

Yes, his big money-maker was blood, but while his poker clients weren't blood drinkers themselves, they were certainly willing to expand Draco's supply chain to their associates. Vampires were the scourge of the night, but they also are great pilferers with deep pockets, thanks to the pockets of their victims.

Look, if he was going to live with regrets, he might as well turn a profit.

Just as Draco was trying to redirect his slowly waking brain to determine just how he could get out of his chair before the real disaster began, the pub door swung open, and an unexpected visitor drew his attention away from his current problem. The rest of the room also pivoted towards the newcomer, as if someone had cast a spell for their heads to move in unison, like a sloppily choreographed flash mob.

They were curious. Interested. Attracted, even. Something about the woman lured them in, like an enchantment. The metaphorical spell on Draco's attention lasted only as long as her anonymity, because when the woman in the strappy backless top turned around…

"Oh shite," he said as Hermione Granger scanned the occupants of the room.

Draco watched her eyes fixate on every person at the bar… assessing, inhaling… sniffing out… searching for something… too wound up, too focused on her own needs to appreciate her blatant lack of decorum. Through his own foggy brain, he noticed what she didn't, how the muscled man with a hawkish nose rose from his stool and headed her way. How the stringy lad from the opposite corner got out of his chair and moved towards her, too. Both looked hungry and unwilling to share.

Scraping the leftovers of a high-profile Ministry employee off the floor wasn't Draco's idea of a pleasant nightcap. He threw his cards face down onto the table and stood. "I fold."

"Hey, you can't leave now!" The first complaint raised more objections from around the table. "You promised us a show" and "We want to see how this plays out" rang in his ears.

Draco was sure he'd said something stupid, ah, several stupid somethings in the last thirty minutes in front of these blokes, but his senses were starting to refocus.

Threatening a bloodbath in his place of business would do that to a person.

"You got the show you paid for. I drank the potion. It's been thirty minutes, and I'm fine, see? Anyone who wants a hit can come by tomorrow and purchase their own dose. It's entirely non-lethal. And the colors are amazing!"

No one would purchase the potion for the colors. They wanted an indescribable high without the nasty side effects. And if he walked out of the room on his own two feet, it would prove that the potion was safe.

Joke was on them. None of Draco Malfoy's potions were safe. Or healthy. Mind-altering potions worked the same as gravity. The inevitable plummet back to earth always chased away the initial ride to the top of the world, but they could experience the entire experience for themselves.

After they paid for it.

He shoved the coins stacked on his side of the table into the center as an apology. "Good evening, gentlemen. May the best man win. Excuse me."

His feet were surprisingly steady. Mmm… that should be noted as a selling-point for the product. When hyped up on a mind-altering potion in the middle of a card game with dangerous, high stakes clients, mobility was a plus.

More dangerous than these blokes would be the Ministry shutting the whole place down if one of their own ended up dead tonight. The urgency of the matter hardened his potion-induced afterglow and made him move faster.

Draco watched his target as he closed the space between them. Was she… yes, she was leering back at another man at the bar… the wrong man… ah, shite. They were all the wrong men. Half-turned vampires were an enticing treat, he'd heard. He ordinarily wouldn't care, but these men would eat her alive. Literally.

Luckily, he stepped in front of her before she collided with any of them. Her upper lip was curled, and her pupils had almost blocked out the color in her eyes.

Draco put his arm around her and steered her towards the back hallway. "I wasn't expecting you back here."

That was a lie. He knew she'd be back, just not so soon. And not with such poor timing.

Hermione's gaze broke from the man at the bar, and she shook herself free of Draco's arm. Wide-eyed, she looked at him, and then back to the bar, suddenly realizing what she should have caught on to before she started making eyes at the dark men.

"Malfoy? What… What in Merlin's name is wrong with me?"

Draco wondered what the hell was wrong with himself when he felt his own unwanted reaction to her wild eyes and let's-not-hide-my-intentions outfit. His gaze shifted across the room at the card game he'd abandoned. They were angry, discussing amongst themselves. This would be bad for him. But it might be worth it after he dealt with her. The last time she had walked into the bar, she'd hidden gold in all sorts of interesting places. He wondered where it would be stashed this time.

"I'll write your dirty laundry list after we get you out of sight," he drawled, staring at a small drop of drool that had gathered at the side of her mouth.

Enigma. That's what he faced. The Golden Girl of the wizarding world begged him to help her—or rather that's how he'd spin it in his head over drinks with the blokes later. She was clearly under the effects of a potion, or falling off the potion—his potion, specifically, from earlier that day. To be fair, so was he.

She was aware now. Aware of the danger. Aware of him. But like all of his clients, Draco needed her to go willingly.

"Alright?" he asked, leading her as casually as he could muster to the back of the pub.

Hermione allowed him to take her arm, still aware. Still skittish. But then her eyes refocused on him. She inhaled, and her irises disappeared completely.

"I will be," she said.

Draco picked up his pace, leading Hermione farther from Muscles and the Scrawny kid, who had disappointment etched into their faces. Thankfully, they succumbed to the lure of a fresh round of foamy mugs slung at them from the barkeep, who had Draco pinned down with his own unwavering gaze.

That was going to be another issue. For later.