When Hermione's alarm went off the next morning, the first thing Draco saw was that Hermione's side of the bed was empty. His stomach instantly fell. Of course she'd left without him, of course she wouldn't want to see him after last night's disastrous attempt at sex. Draco wasn't even surprised to find her gone.
That, however, did not help to dampen the depression and self-loathing he felt when he found that she was gone.
He rose from the bed, intending to down a glass of water before he crawled back under the covers and hid from the world for the rest of the day. He moved sluggishly down the hall, and when he made it to the kitchen, he was surprised to find Hermione, already dressed and standing at the stove. "Hermione?" he asked, his voice crackling.
Hermione turned and smiled at him. "Morning," she replied. "Sit, eggs are almost ready."
"I thought you'd already left," Draco said instead, filling a glass with water before leaning against the stove.
Hermione shook her head. "No, of course not! I woke up early and decided to make us breakfast. Are you coming to work with me today?"
Draco stared at her for a moment, completely confused. When he'd finally fallen asleep the night before, he was certain it was only a matter of days before Hermione inevitably broke up with him. Instead, she was—she was—
Acting like last night never happened, Draco realized. "Uhm," Draco said dumbly, quite uncertain how to act in her presence at this very moment.
"It's Friday, so I don't anticipate being very busy, so I was thinking you could just start again on Monday?" she continued as she split the eggs between two plates, handing one to Draco. "If that's all right."
Hermione took a seat at the table and began to eat her eggs. Draco followed and sat across from her, staring down at the eggs on his plate.
"Draco?" Hermione asked after a moment.
"What?—Oh. Yeah, I suppose that's all right," he finally replied, taking a small bite of egg. Truthfully, he wasn't very hungry. His stomach was twisted into a rather painful knot.
Hermione smiled again. "I was just thinking that it would be rather silly for you to start on a Friday of all days."
Draco attempted to smile back at her, but her attention was already back on her eggs. "Hermione?" he asked quietly.
Hermione swallowed her bite of egg and looked up at him. "Hmm?" she hummed
"Are we okay?"
Hermione stared at him and tilted her head in confusion. "Of course," she replied. "Why wouldn't we be?"
His eyes dropped down to his plate. "Never mind," he muttered.
Hermione nodded. "Harry's asked me to come over for dinner tonight," she continued. "You can come if you want, but there's no pressure if you don't want to."
Draco's head snapped up. "I didn't know you were talking to Ginny again?" he questioned.
She shrugged. "We've owled a bit, but this would be the first time I'll have seen her since our trip to Australia."
"So…you guys are okay?" Draco asked.
"I'm over it," Hermione replied easily, her attention once more on her eggs.
The knot in Draco's stomach twisted further. This was—well, weird. The woman in front of him looked like Hermione, and sounded like Hermione, but Draco was struck by the notion that he was once more talking to a Poly-juiced version of someone he loved.
"Hermione," he repeated.
"Yes?" she replied patiently.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "You seem—well, weird."
"I'm fine," she said brightly, standing and placing her empty plate in the sink.
Too brightly.
Hermione was, in fact, not fine.
"You're lying," Draco accused. "Don't lie to me."
Hermione paused where she stood, her hands gripping the kitchen counter so hard that Draco could see her knuckles turning white. "I'm not lying," she said through clenched teeth.
"Really?" Draco challenged. "Because I just had a whole conversation with someone who very much is not my girlfriend."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked tightly, turning around to glare at him.
Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He did not want to fight with her. "Hermione," he said softly, changing tactics. "Come on, I know you. I know when you're avoiding something."
"And what is it that I'm avoiding, Draco?" she replied.
Draco rose from his chair and made his way to where Hermione stood at the sink, her face flushed red with anger. Delicately, Draco placed his hands on her hips, and when she didn't immediately pull away from him, he pulled her closer to him. "Should we talk about last night?" he asked quietly.
Hermione instantly paled and attempted to pull away from him. Draco refused to relinquish his hold on her, digging his fingers into her hip bones. "No," she replied hoarsely, even as she refused to meet his gaze.
"Hermione—" he began.
"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione interrupted, her voice strained.
Draco ignored her. "It was bad, Hermione. I think we can both agree on that," he continued.
Hermione once again attempted to pull away from him. "Draco, stop," she seethed. Afraid that he would unintentionally hurt her, Draco released her, who immediately took several steps away from him.
"Hermione, wait—"
"I'll see you after dinner at Harry's," she interrupted Draco once more as she hurried towards the Floo, taking a large handful of the powder in her hand and throwing it into the fireplace without a second glance towards him, disappearing in a violent green flash.
Draco was in complete shock as he stood, rooted to the spot as if she had Stupefied him, staring at the empty fireplace. She had run away from him. She had literally just run away from him. When Draco was finally able to move again, he rushed towards the fireplace, his immediate reaction to follow her and confront her—force her to talk to him. He was just about to toss his own handful of Floo powder into the fireplace when something stopped him.
What good would it do to follow her? She very clearly didn't want to talk to him. Defeated, Draco dropped the Floo powder back into its pail and turned away from the fireplace. He dropped inelegantly down onto the couch and stared at the fireplace for a long time, pondering the implications of this newest complication in his relationship with Hermione.
Crookshanks shook Draco from his reverie when he pounced onto Draco's lap, purring loudly. Draco absently rubbed the cat behind his ears, and Crookshanks butted Draco's hand, seeking more contact. Draco obliged and Crookshanks, seemingly pleased, curled up in Draco's lap, still purring. Draco sighed and looked down at the cat. "I don't know what's going on Crooks. I don't know what to do," he admitted to Crookshanks. Predictably, Crookshanks did not answer him, and simply stared up at Draco with lazy yellow eyes.
Draco tried again, running his hand down Crooks' back down to the base of his tail. "Am I losing her, Crooks?" he asked. Crooks responded with an indignant swish of his tail, and Draco wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. "You're no help, Crookshanks."
He stayed on the couch with Crookshanks for a long time, talking himself out of going to Elixir to see Hermione on more than one occasion. Even if they were fighting—were they fighting? Draco wasn't entirely sure—he missed her so fiercely that his heart stuttered in his chest. He needed to fix this. He needed her—he could not lose her.
She said she'd see him after dinner with the Potters. He could wait until then—he could be patient. Maybe she'd be more relaxed after an evening with Potter, and then maybe they could talk without her running away.
For her, he'd wait.
Waiting for Hermione proved to be more difficult than Draco had originally imagined. The day seemed to creep by, and when the clock finally hit 5 p.m., Draco had let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Perhaps she'd come home to change, and Draco could take her in his arms and tell her that he loved her, that he never wanted to lose her. Maybe that was all they needed—maybe it was all she needed.
Hermione did not come home to change. By 6, Draco's stomach was once more twisted painfully and he felt severely nauseous. He wondered if she was already at Potter's, explaining his absence. Maybe he could go to Potter's, surprise her there. No, that would be awkward, and Potter happened to be perceptive at only the most inopportune of times.
By 7, Draco felt so ill he had to lay down on the couch and shut his eyes. He wanted Hermione. He wondered where she was, how she was feeling, what she was thinking. Whether she was thinking about him, too.
He doubted it, though.
Fuck, he wanted a drink.
Draco's eyes flew open at that realization, and the anxiety he'd been feeling all day finally crested and washed over him. He couldn't sit on this damnable couch any longer or he'd go mental. He stalked to the kitchen and pulled the bottle of Ogden's from the cupboard, placing it on the counter before staring down at it seriously. Again, he was reminded that Hermione didn't want him drinking. This caused Draco a brief pause before he seethed internally. What about what he bloody well wanted? Hermione wasn't even here. With that thought in mind, he pulled the cork from the bottle and took a large swig, grimacing at the burn of the alcohol. It didn't take long before the grimace turned into a grin as the familiar taste of the firewhiskey coated his tongue.
Yes, this was what he wanted.
After four large gulps from the bottle, Draco was feeling much more settled and the twisting sensation in his gut had all but resolved itself. Now feeling content, Draco poured himself a large tumbler of firewhiskey and headed back to the couch to wait for Hermione. He didn't even care if she Floo'ed back while he still had the tumbler in his hands.
It was then that Draco realized he was angry with Hermione. He wasn't sure if that was fair, but it was true. And it felt good to defy her.
And then with that realization, he felt guilty. It wasn't solely her fault that the sex had been terrible—no, and that wasn't even the point. She was avoiding him, hiding from him, running from him, and he hated that. He'd wanted to talk to her—his Hermione, not the Polyjuiced Hermione from this morning.
He wanted Hermione.
Fuck
Fuck
FUCK
Draco returned to the kitchen and poured the damnable firewhiskey down the sink. Defying Hermione for a brief moment of pride was not worth it, he knew. It certainly wasn't worth risking his relationship for.
He'd wait patiently for Hermione, just like he'd planned.
Draco once more settled himself on the couch directly in front of the Floo. When she got home, he'd be there waiting for her. And this time, he would not let her run away.
Hermione did not come home.
Draco waited patiently until midnight before he'd given up and headed to bed, his heart aching with the thought that Hermione was sleeping on Potter's couch—avoiding him.
He knew he wouldn't sleep without her.
Draco got ready for bed, discarding everything but his boxers before slipping beneath the green silk comforter that Hermione loved. He pulled the sheets up over his shoulders, burrowing his face deep into her pillow, breathing in the scent of her hair. It was a minor comfort, but it paled in comparison to having her there, in his arms. Draco shut eyes tightly, trying to force himself to sleep through sheer willpower alone.
It almost worked. But just as Draco was slipping into unconsciousness, the Floo roared to life in the living room. Draco instantly sat up, waiting for Hermione to come into the bedroom.
"Oi, Malfoy! Wake up!" It was Potter, of course.
Dread coursed through Draco as he swung his legs from the bed and hurried to the living room, where he was half-expecting to find Hermione, broken and bleeding. Instead, he found Potter standing just outside the fireplace, Hermione slung over his right shoulder. She was crying quietly. "Potter?" Draco questioned as he hurried towards the fireplace.
Potter met Draco halfway across the living room, still holding Hermione's waist tightly. "She's been crying for over an hour," Potter answered as a way of explanation. "Ginny tried to console her—but, well—she's a bit wasted. She started crying for you about twenty minutes ago."
Draco sighed. "Come on, set her down on the bed."
Potter nodded, following Draco to the bedroom. "I want Draco," Hermione sobbed quietly.
"Shh, 'Mione," hushed Potter. "He's right here. We're just going to set you down on the bed then he and I are going to have a little chat."
"No!" she sobbed. "I want Draco."
"Give her here, Potter," Draco insisted, reaching for Hermione, who instantly wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him. "Shh, see, I'm right here, Sweetheart," he said into her ear.
Hermione hiccupped against his neck, but nodded.
"Our little chat might need to wait until tomorrow, Potter. I don't think she's going to let me go," Draco said, turning to Potter. As if on cue, Hermione's arms tightened around his neck even further.
Potter's face darkened as he stared at Draco and Hermione, but he nodded his acquiescence. "Tomorrow," he confirmed.
"Tomorrow," Draco agreed, though he truthfully had no plans to have any type of chat with Potter.
With relief, Draco heard Potter disappear through the Floo as he entered the bedroom, gently lowering Hermione down onto the bed. As he had predicted, Hermione's grip on him did not loosen. "No," she slurred.
"Hermione," Draco said gently. "I'm going to get you a glass of water and then I'm coming right back."
"I'm sorry," Hermione said girlishly, breaking into a fresh set of sobs.
"It's okay, Hermione," Draco replied, brushing a wild curl away from her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face splotchy as if she had been crying for a while. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Really?" she asked, as if in disbelief.
Draco sighed before laying down beside her, his head resting against hers on the pillow. "Really," Draco replied, throwing an arm around her waist. "I am never going to leave you, Hermione. I'm here as long as you want me."
Hermione began to sob harder. "I don't want to lose you," she cried.
"Oh, Hermione," he said, pulling her into him. "You're not going to lose me."
She hiccupped again before she quieted. Draco looked down at Hermione, who had fallen asleep amidst her tears.
Draco awoke the next morning to Hermione's light snoring—a habit she had when she'd had too much to drink—and a stiff neck. At some point in the night, they had shifted, and Draco was now flat on his back, Hermione's head resting on his chest. He felt a bit of moisture there, and for a moment he thought Hermione was crying once again, before he realized that she was drooling. Draco grinned down at her, pushing a curl away from her face so he could see her fully.
Hermione woke with a groan, rolling over and off of him before sitting up ramrod straight and launching herself off the bed and into the bathroom. She slammed the door, and Draco heard the distinct sound of retching behind the door.
He never had gotten her that glass of water last night.
With a sigh, Draco stood from the bed, cracked his neck, and headed to the bathroom. He tried the knob, and finding it locked, knocked gently at the door. "Hermione," he called. "Come on, let me in."
Behind the door, Hermione retched again. "No," she replied after a moment, her voice scratchy. "I'm disgusting."
He knocked again. "I don't care," Draco argued. "Let me in."
There was a long pause, and then the doorknob rattled and the door opened just a bit. Inside, Draco found Hermione on her knees in front of the toilet, her cheek resting on the porcelain of the toilet seat. "I drank too much," she said with a groan. "I don't even remember what happened last night."
Draco knelt down in front of her and gently stroked at her cheek with the pads of his fingers. "Yes, you did," he confirmed. Her skin was clammy against his fingers.
Hermione groaned, and this seemed to irritate something in her stomach, as she pitched forward and began a new round of retching into the toilet.
"All right, all right," Draco said, shifting to kneel behind her so he could pull her hair out of her face with one hand and stroke her back with his other. "That's it. Just let it out."
When she had finished, she rested her cheek back on the toilet seat. "This is humiliating."
Draco continued to stroke at her back. "We've all had mornings like this, Hermione."
"What happened last night?" she questioned, closing her eyes.
Draco shrugged. "I don't know. I waited for you last night, but you never came home. Potter brought you back around 1 in the morning. You were—highly intoxicated."
"Great," Hermione muttered. "You must've been so worried."
"Yes," Draco said simply.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
"We'll talk about it later. Right now, let's focus on you being able to keep down a Hangover Potion."
Hermione nodded, which only spurred another round of vomiting. "Make it stop," she whined.
"You just have to get everything out, Hermione," Draco replied, standing to fetch a washcloth.
Hermione lifted her head to watch him, but winced as she did so and dropped her head back down. "Where are you going?" she asked.
"Just to get something to help," he said, grinning at her. He returned moments later with a washcloth which he quickly wetted and folded, pressing it to her forehead.
Hermione groaned in appreciation. "That feels good, thank you."
Draco sat down on the floor next to Hermione and leaned against the wall. "Unfortunately, I have quite a bit of experience with this type of thing."
Hermione snorted, then winced again. "I'm never drinking again."
"Isn't that what everyone always says?" Draco said, making an attempt at humor.
Hermione eyed him for a moment, somewhat suspiciously, but this apparently exhausted her, and within seconds her eyes were closed again.
"Why did you drink so much last night?" Draco asked gently.
"I don't know," Hermione replied softly.
Another lie.
Draco let out a heavy exhale. "Right."
"Draco—" she began, before she suddenly gagged and leaned back over the toilet. After this bout of vomiting, she leaned back against the wall next to Draco, resting her head against his shoulder. "I think I'm spent."
"Ready for that potion?" Draco asked.
Hermione shook her head slightly. "No, not quite yet."
"I'll make you some tea, it'll help settle your stomach," Draco offered.
"I hate your tea," Hermione replied with a grimace.
Right. Of course. Without another word, Draco helped Hermione up from the floor and led her back to the bedroom. Hermione collapsed on the bed, her limbs sprawled out in every direction. She instantly closed her eyes. "Do you want me to tuck you in?" Draco asked.
"No, this feels good. If I get too warm, I might start puking again," Hermione answered.
"Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you."
He wondered if she'd mind if he stayed with her. Even in her current state, gray and clammy, Draco wanted to lay down next to her and hold her—rub her back until she felt better, or untangle her hair with his fingers so she could braid it and keep it out of her face. From the way she had spread herself out over the entirety of the bed, however, Draco could only assume that she did not, in fact, want his company. "Let me know if you need anything," he said quietly, before leaving the room.
Hermione finally made an appearance after two hours, still looking a bit ill, but much of her color had returned. Draco instantly shot to his feet, wanting more than anything to just be helpful. "Can I get you something?" he asked quickly.
Hermione gave him a pained smile. "I think I'm ready for that Hangover Potion now. I just need a glass of water."
She shook her head at him. "I can get it myself, Draco. I'm hungover, not an invalid."
"Oh," Draco replied dumbly, scratching at the back of his neck. "Okay." Now that Hermione was feeling better, the feeling of being disconnected was back in full force. Right now, it was downright painful. Draco watched as she filled a glass with water, and even though she was only mere feet away from him in the kitchen, Draco had never felt further away from her. "Do you need me to go to the shop to get you a vial?" he asked awkwardly.
"No, I always keep a few beneath my bathroom counter. Thank you, though."
Painful. So painful.
Hermione disappeared once more into the bedroom, and Draco wondered for a second if he should follow her. It only took a split second before Draco decided not to follow her, and he remained in the living room, wondering how things had gotten so bad between them so quickly. Draco lowered himself back down to the couch, burying his face in his hands, trying to steal himself. He could do this. They could do this.
"What is this?" came Hermione's voice from behind him.
Wearily, Draco lifted his head from his hands. "What is what, Hermione?" he asked. He sounded exhausted even to himself.
"This!" Hermione nearly shouted. Draco shifted around to face her. In one hand she held a vial of bright pink potion; the potion she had made for him and his mother all those months ago. "Please tell me this is not what I think it is."
Draco didn't know how to respond. Her fingers gripped the vial so tightly Draco was certain that the glass was going to shatter in her hands, and she was shaking. "Hermione—"
"No. Answer me right now, Draco Malfoy." Despite her obvious anger, her voice was incredibly calm and controlled. It was unnerving.
"You know exactly what it is, Hermione," he answered, trying to keep his tone neutral.
"I made you these potions, Draco," Hermione stated. "And you never even took them?" Her voice broke slightly.
Draco could do nothing but shake his head.
"You specifically asked meto make something for you!" Hermione cried.
"I asked you to make something for my mother," Draco replied carefully.
She snorted cruelly. "Yes, but you included that idiotic potion in your notes knowing I would figure out what and who it was really for."
"Hermione, I don't understand why you're so angry with me," Draco admitted, looking down at his hands.
"I spent an entire weekend uninterrupted making these for you," Hermione said quietly, motioning to the vial in her outstretched hands. "It took forever. I made them specifically for you, and you never even touched them." She looked up at him with hurt in her eyes.
"I told you to focus on my mother," Draco replied. "I told you not to worry about me."
"I did focus on your mother. You and she were all I thought about since the day you stepped into my shop." Hermione paused for a moment. "How could you ask me not to worry about you, Draco? You kept coming to my shop, completely wasted and miserable, cut up and bleeding. And I'm supposed to—what? Not worry?"
"Yes. I didn't seek you out for you to worry about my well-being, Hermione."
"I bloody well know that, you frustrating, insufferable man!" she shouted.
Draco sat quietly, staring down at his hands. He didn't know how to respond.
At that very moment, the Floo roared to life and Draco didn't even need to look up to know who would be coming through the fireplace. "Hey, Malfoy, you complete and utter git—" Potter began.
Draco stood suddenly, unable to handle the current onslaught. He was aware of what he was: he was frustrating, he was insufferable, a git, a prat, a tosser, a complete and utter piece of human shite—he knew, he really fucking knew—but he really could not handle being reminded of that fact by his angry girlfriend and her best friend who only needed the slightest excuse to revert back to hating him. "I'm sorry, I can't—" he cut off.
Hermione looked as if she had just been struck, and Potter's look of confusion would have been laughable under any other circumstance.
Without another thought, Draco apparated away.
His first thought during apparition was that he would automatically appear inside of Elixir, but to his surprise, he landed just outside the Hawthorn Inn. It had been a long time since he'd seen—or even heard from—Astoria, but he supposed this was the only other place he could end up. Not knowing how Astoria would even react to his presence, he made his way to her room—he wasn't even entirely sure if she were still staying here, but he'd have to take his chances—and knocked at the door.
Astoria didn't answer, so Draco knocked again. Finally, just as Draco was about to leave and find a hotel room of his own, the door swung open to reveal Astoria. She looked as if she had just been woken up, squinting against the light of the hallway, her clothes rumpled badly. Her eyes widened when she saw him, then she quirked a brow, staring at him coolly. "Draco," she greeted.
"Hi, Astoria," Draco replied quietly. "I know we fought last time—"
"Indeed," she replied icily.
Draco met her eyes, which were slightly bloodshot. "My mum died, Astoria," he continued. "And Hermione and I—I don't know. I just came here. I should—I can go." His voice broke, and he looked down at his shoes.
Astoria sighed. "Come in," she said, her tone gentler now. "You sound like you could use a beer."
Draco nodded. "Yeah," he agreed.