It was another two weeks before Draco convinced himself to apparate outside of Elixir again, desperate to see her again. He walked into the little shop, the tinkling of the bell familiar now. He expected to find Hermione with a customer, her with a potion in hand, explaining its benefits. He would be polite and not interrupt. Instead, he was met with silence.
"One minute!" came a strangled voice from where he knew Granger's office to be. She emerged moments later, her face red and swollen. "Oh, Malfoy," she said, wiping at her eyes, as if trying to hide the evidence that she had been crying. It wasn't quite working.
"All right, Granger?"
"Fine," she murmured with another furious swipe to her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"I don't know," Draco replied honestly. "Why are you crying?"
"We broke up," Granger whispered. She began to cry again, rubbing furiously at her eyes.
"I told you he sucked," he murmured.
Granger began to cry harder.
He decidedly did not like seeing her cry. "Close the shop, let's go get some ice cream."
"I couldn't—"
"There's no one here. You're sad. I'm here and craving sugar. If I don't get some soon, I might commit a homicide," Draco replied easily.
"It's 11 o'clock in the morning, Malfoy," she laughed through her tears.
"Perfect, we'll get first choice of the flavors. I could go for strawberry and pistachio, personally."
Granger exhaled heavily. "I cannot believe I'm saying this—But ice cream sounds lovely, Malfoy. Just let me grab my coat."
Granger disappeared towards her office, reappearing moments later as she shrugged her coat on, wiping once more at her eyes.
No, that just simply wouldn't do.
She gave him a ghost of a smile as she walked past him, pulling open the door, bell jingling. "Shall we?" she asked softly.
"Yes," he murmured, following her and stepping outside the shop, watching as she locked the door behind her. She twisted the handle once, then twice, making certain that the door was locked.
"Fortescue's?" she asked primly.
This was strange territory for them—for him. Their only interactions since Hogwarts had taken place inside the low light of the shop, away from the eyes of others. Thinly veiled insults tossed between them, a desk apart, her in a leather armchair, him in a haphazardly painted yellow chair fitted with a floral seat cushion. But now, here they were, inches away from touching, nothing separating them.
Draco wasn't certain the last time he had interacted with a witch—with anyone, for that matter—without the separation of some type of surface. Years, perhaps? Lawyers, his father, his mother, Astoria, Granger—and suddenly she was right next to him, and he could grab her fingers if he wanted to—
Beyond that, Draco wasn't certain of the last time he had walked openly into a public space as he was doing just now. The elves got the groceries, the firewhiskey, everything. And Draco, well, Draco ate the groceries and drank the firewhiskey, but never, ever, was he the one to get it. No, it had been years since Draco had seen the public, preferring to hide away in his Manor, slowly drinking himself to death—
The light grasp of her fingers brought him back to reality. "You disappeared again," she whispered, jerking her fingers away, as if she were afraid of offending him.
"I'm in my own head a lot," he replied.
"I've kind of gathered that," she said with a chuckle. "What were you thinking about?"
"Strawberry and pistachio or raspberry and chocolate?" Draco lied. "It's a big decision, Granger."
"You're lying," Granger replied quickly. "But I'll let it slide since you're buying me ice cream."
Draco turned to look at her as they walked. "I thought you were paying?"
Despite her red-rimmed eyes, she smiled at him, jostling his ribs with a well-placed elbow. "Very funny."
"I wasn't joking," he said seriously.
Her face fell. "Oh," she murmured.
Of course his teasing hurt her, of course it did—it always had. "Oi, Granger, I was just teasing. Obviously, the ice cream is on me."
Granger smiled once more, but it wasn't as big, not as bright. He had inadvertently hurt the budding friendship between them with just a bit of ribbing, and he regretted it immensely.
"I can't always be charming," he stated, trying to convey his apology to her.
She snorted, not looking at him. "You're never charming."
"What flavors are you thinking?" he asked. The whole purpose of taking her to get ice cream at 11 o'clock in the morning was to cheer her up, not to make her feel worse—not to question why he was taking her to get ice cream, whether it was simply another tactic at humiliation—
"I was just thinking vanilla," she interrupted his thoughts with a shrug.
Draco stopped walking and turned to stare at her. "Vanilla?" he asked in disbelief.
"What?" she huffed, taking a few more steps before turning to face him as well. "I like vanilla."
"Everyone likes vanilla, Granger. That's not the point!"
"Well, what's the point?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, putting her hands on her hips.
"You and your boyfriend just broke up, and your handsome childhood nemesis is taking you out for ice cream, at 11 o'clock in the morning, and your choice is vanilla?"
Granger rolled her eyes. "Childhood nemesis? You give yourself too much credit, Malfoy. I barely even thought about you."
"Don't change the subject!"
"Well, I don't quite understand what the subject even is!" she replied, clearly exasperated.
Draco sighed, realizing he was being slightly irrational about ice cream, and placed his hands on her shoulders gently. "You're having a bad day, Granger. I know you're uptight, and by-the-book, but let yourself have a little something extra today—it's okay to indulge yourself once in a while. I'll even splurge for chocolate, if you like," he said with a grin.
Granger didn't meet his eyes for a moment, but when she finally did, it was with a roll. "I suppose you do have a point, Malfoy," she said with a small shrug. "Do you think chocolate and orange sherbet is a disgusting combination?"
"Yes," he replied earnestly, squeezing her shoulders.
"Well, that's what I want."
Draco laughed—he wasn't sure of the last time he had really laughed—and murmured, "Then that's what we'll get, Granger." She smiled again—he quite liked her smile. Suddenly nervous, Draco hastily removed his hands from her shoulders, where they fell uselessly at his sides before he stuffed them into the pockets of his trousers.
She stared at him for a moment before smirking, as if coming to some understanding about him. "In a waffle cone?" she asked playfully.
"Whatever you want, Granger," he replied, looking away from her and resuming his walk towards the ice cream parlor.
"Thank you for this," she murmured, having quickly caught up with him.
"For what?" he asked, his eyes trained on his shoes.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her shrug. "This," she said, gesticulating between the two of them. "The distraction. The…friendship? Are we friends, Malfoy?" she asked, furrowing her brow.
"I suppose," he murmured, chancing a peek at her, finding her eyes downcast, lower lip caught between two canines. "What happened?"
"What?"
"You and the Weasel," Draco clarified.
"Can we get ice cream first?" Granger asked, her eyes wide and doe-like as they landed on him.
"Sure," he murmured.
They walked in silence the rest of the short way to Fortescue's, Draco's hands deep in his pockets and her lip trapped between teeth. When they arrived at the predictably empty ice cream parlor, Draco pulled one his hands from his pocket to hold the door open for her. She grinned at him before entering the shop, the tinkering of a bell announcing their presence.
"Welcome to Florean Fortescue's," came a bored voice from behind the counter.
"Hello! How are you?" chimed Granger brightly.
Draco rolled his eyes in her direction. Insufferable Gryffindors. Cleary, the man did not give two shits.
The man at the counter turned around to face them, and upon laying his eyes upon Hermione Granger, his pupils blew wide. "Hermione Granger," he stuttered.
Granger smiled slightly at the man, a blush tinging the tops of her cheeks.
Then the man's eyes shifted from Granger to Draco, and darkened. Back to Granger, then once again to Draco, clearly confused.
It had gotten weird in here. "We'd like to purchase some ice cream," Draco said stiffly.
The man stuttered once more. "Um, yes, what can I do for you, Herm—Ms. Granger?"
Granger blushed even more.
"Two waffle cones, one with strawberry and pistachio, the other chocolate and orange sherbet—"
Draco was interrupted as he felt Granger tug gently on his sleeve. "I was mostly kidding about that," she whispered to him, ignoring the other man completely.
"Well, what do you really want then, Granger?" he murmured back.
"Strawberry and pistachio—and vanilla," she whispered back to him, her eyes locked on him.
Very weird, indeed.
"Two waffle cones, one with strawberry and pistachio, the other strawberry, pistachio and vanilla," he said to the man, who nodded, his eyes still lingering on Granger.
Draco paid and accepted the two ice cream cones, handing Granger's to her as she continued to look at the floor. "Come on," he murmured, tugging at her sleeve, towards the door.
"It's cold out," she whispered.
"You're lucky I'm a wizard, then," he said, casting a warming charm over them.
Granger nodded and smiled, finally looking back up at him. "Sorry, I just—I hate that," she said, once the door of the parlor was closed behind them.
"Hate what?" he asked.
"Wherever I go, people recognize me, and it's like—they worship me. But I've never even met them, and it—it just makes me so uncomfortable. I'm just a regular girl, you know. Or, at least, that's what I want to be," she ranted, taking a lick of her massive ice cream cone. Draco's eyes locked on her tongue as she licked.
"But you're not, though. You're Potter's best friend. One-third of the Golden Trio—you're famous," he replied.
Granger stopped and turned to him, taking a thoughtful lick of her ice cream. "Don't you ever wish you were just normal?"
"I'm afraid that I don't quite know what normal is," he replied.
"I'm forgetting—that's the problem," she murmured.
"You and the Weasel?" Draco asked, still curious.
Granger groaned and took bite of her ice cream. "I was hoping that you'd forget."
"Not a chance." Not a fucking chance.
"We'd been fighting for a while. About everything—I mean, just a few weeks ago we fought about whether Crookshanks preferred salmon to tuna—I mean, that bad. You—Oh, oh," Granger laughed darkly, "You made everything worse."
Draco's heart plummeted. "I'm—"
Granger waved him off. "It's not your fault," she continued. "I mean, it is; but it's not." Another lick of ice cream, her eyes narrowed. "He wanted to get married, have kids—I didn't. Not for a while, at least. He just—he never listened, you know? He interrupted, tried to insert his authority when I said something he didn't like—that, or he just downright ignored it, because it just didn't fit with his ideal little world—" she rambled.
"He didn't get you," Draco said simply, interrupting her.
Granger's eyes flashed to him, where he innocently licked at a bit of pistachio ice cream. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that's it. We had a fight last night—a bad one. I left; stayed with Harry and Ginny. I showed up at work this morning and there was an owl waiting for me," she continued, her voice beginning to warble a bit.
"No," Draco said in disbelief. "He didn't."
"Yes, he did. Broke up with me via owl—can you believe that?"
No, Draco could not believe that. Granger and the Weasel had been together for years, and to break up with her through the post—Draco was angry. Livid. A gentleman did not treat a witch—any witch—like this, but certainly not Hermione Granger. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.
Granger chuckled a bit, taking a bite of cone. "I suppose. It hadn't been good for a while. If I'm being honest, I've been thinking about leaving him. I just—didn't expect it to be like this. I have two sets of clothes, a bed that I transfigured from a couch at Harry and Ginny's and a break-up letter that a bird gave me."
"If you need anything—"
"Thank you, Draco," she interrupted quietly.
Draco. His name had only left her lips a handful of times, but he decided he loved the sound. "You're welcome, Granger. I'm not sure what you're thanking me for, though."
"The ice cream, of course," she said with a smirk.
They walked quietly back towards Elixir, quietly finishing their ice cream cones. They were nearly back at the shop when Draco heard someone shout, "Death Eater scum!" Then there was liquid sliding down his face—spit, he assumed—hoped. His hand went to his face to wipe off the offending liquid, and he turned, trying to find the producer of said liquid—
Granger was as quick as lightening, pushing the man away, her fist connecting with his face with a resounding pop. "Oi! Who do you think you are, spitting on people in the street!"
The man snarled. "Death Eater!" He shouted again, his nose bleeding profusely.
She smacked him again. "You're the one who's scum," she said hotly, locking her fists around the collar of the man's shirt, pushing him against the wall in a surprising feat of strength. "I'm Hermione Granger. Touch him, or me, and I'll have you locked up in Azkaban before you can even blink."
The man's eyes blew wide. "Hermione Granger—yes, yes, ma'am," he said timidly, clearly searching for an escape route.
Granger let him go before turning to Draco. "Are you okay?" she asked, taking a few steps towards him, her fingers reaching for his face.
Draco jerked away, his face hot with embarrassment and shame. This had happened before, back when he still tried to show his face in public. It had always been horrible, of course. But this—well, this was beyond horrible. He couldn't even take a witch he maybe fancied out to ice cream without getting spit on. He burned hotter, finally meeting Granger's eyes. "I'm fine," he said coldly.
She flinched and dropped her hand, taking a few steps away from him. "I'm sorry, did I—"
"I can take care of myself, Granger," he snapped.
He was taking this out on her, which he knew wasn't fair. But he was embarrassed, and angry, and she was soft and kind and there—
"I know, but that man—"
"Why do you have to meddle in everything?" Draco sneered viciously.
Granger took several more steps back from him. "You should go," she whispered, her throat bobbing as she swallowed.
"Yeah, I should," he said coldly.
Draco diapparated on the spot, forgotten strawberry and pistachio ice cream melting over his fingers as he arrived in his bedroom.
Several hours and several tumblers of firewhiskey later, Draco was feeling quite remorseful. Drunk, and remorseful.
It wasn't her fault—It hadn't been her fault. The fault lied solely with him, for choosing to become a Death Eater. And also, with the stranger, who had chosen to spit on him. But not Hermione Granger, no. Not her fault at all. She was hot-tempered and protective. He knew this—he had since their third year when he had been the one she was hitting in the face.
Draco had deserved it then, and that man deserved it, too. So it wasn't her fault.
So, why was he angry? He was hoping he would find that answer at the bottom of a bottle of firewhiskey.
So far, he was having very little luck.
After his fourth tumbler, Draco realized he was an idiot who needed to apologize to her immediately. A very pretty witch, who was having a rather poor day, had punched and threatened a man in his defense, and he had snapped at her.
Her. Hermione Granger. The witch who had done nothing but help his sorry arse.
Yes, he had to apologize right now.
There was a familiar pull behind his navel, and he was twisting, shifting, being pulled through space and time, and then he was landing in the familiar space of Elixir. He stumbled as he landed, thankful that he hadn't broken any furniture. He hadn't meant to apparate inside, but he supposed the habit was now ingrained.
It was silent inside the shop, and with a glance towards the windows, Draco realized it was completely dark and therefore likely beyond normal business hours. So, why could he still apparate inside?
Draco heard soft crying from the back of the shop, where Granger's office was. Immediately, he headed towards it. He found her office, its door wide open and Granger in her chair, hands buried in her curly hair as she sobbed freely.
"Granger," he murmured, taking his normal seat across from her.
She raised her head, seemingly unsurprised to see him, her eyes wet and bleary as she looked at him. "Come to snap at me again?" she asked, hiccupping.
"No," he said softly. "I came to apologize."
Granger laughed, pressing her hands into her face once more. "I don't want to hear it."
"But you deserve to," he countered.
She didn't look up at him, but she stayed quiet.
"All you've done is help me—since the War. You kept me out of Azkaban, and I've never even thanked you for that. So, thank you. And you're helping me now, with my mother. You don't have to—in fact, you have no reason to—and today, on the street, with the man. You were helping me. You didn't do anything wrong, Granger. And I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said quietly.
"You were embarrassed," she said after a moment.
She could see right through him.
"Yes," he replied.
She sniffled before removing her head from hands. Her eyes were bright red and puffy. Evidently, she had been crying for a while. She blew out a breath. "You're drunk."
"Yes," he said again.
Granger sniffled again before she chuckled. "I adjusted the wards here to allow you entry any time."
"I was wondering."
"You seem to be keen on doing idiotic shite and I didn't want you to hurt yourself," she said, still not meeting his eyes.
"I am keen on doing idiotic shite, Granger. If you had just allowed me to splinch myself, I'm sure it would be easier on everyone."
Finally, her eyes flashed to his. "Don't do that. Don't say things like that."
"I'm sorry, Granger," he said earnestly, trying to steer the conversation away from where it was steadily going.
"Is that the reason for the potion, then?" she asked quietly.
"What?" he asked.
"It's clear that you hate yourself so much, Malfoy. Is that the reason for the potion?" She wiped at her face furiously, facing him fully.
Draco stilled, amazed that she could read him so precisely. He placed his left hand on her desk, flexing his fingers that had begun tingling with anxiety despite the alcohol. "When you wake up in the morning, Granger, what is your first thought?" he asked.
Granger studied him for a minute before answering. "Five more minutes?" she grumbled.
He nodded. "That's what most people think. Me? When I wake up, I think to myself 'Why am I still here?' Every morning, Granger," he explained sadly. "Today, on the street? That's happened before. It's not the first time, nor will it be the last."
"People shouldn't treat you that way—" she began.
"The first time I walked into this shop, you threatened to call Aurors on me," he interrupted.
She closed her mouth quickly, shutting her eyes tightly. "I didn't know—"
"I know. And there was no reason for you to know. No reason for you to treat me any differently from the day I walked in here, no reason for some stranger not to spit on my face while I'm walking down the street—You had no reason, and neither did he. Neither did any of them."
"Draco—"
"I wake up every day hoping to die, Granger. The things I've done—the things I've seen done—they're hard to live with. Downright impossible, sometimes. I wake up and I want to die," he began. "But I took this Mark to protect my mother. It ruined my life, but it saved hers. I took it for her. So, I can't very well leave her alone when she's sick. So, I hope for the best: I hope for numbness."
Her tears had stopped now, and she was watching him with a look he couldn't quite decipher. She nodded. "I understand."
"Why are you still here?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.
She chuckled sardonically through her tears. "Can't go home, didn't want to go to Harry and Ginny's—end of options. So, I locked up and just stayed. Pathetic, isn't it?"
Draco shook his head. "No, I don't think so," he said, rapping the fingers of his left hand against the wood of her desk. "I'm clearly the more pathetic of the two of us."
"I don't typically condone drunkenness, but would you happen to have some firewhiskey on you? I think I could use stiff drink."
Draco grinned. "I don't, but I know where we can get some."
She groaned. "Take me?"
Draco offered his elbow to her, which she took after a moment of hesitation that stung. He let it fade, because he certainly deserved it, as he apparated them to the Leaky Cauldron, specifically, in front of room 309. His knuckles rapped against the door once, then twice. It took a few moments, but then the door was creaking open. "Draco?" Astoria asked, swinging the door open wider.
"Astoria," he replied with a grin.
"How did you know where I was staying?" asked, her eyes darting nervously down the hallway.
"I've written you, remember?" Draco replied.
"Oh, yes," she said, crossing her hands over her body. "Why are you here?"
Draco pulled Granger from where she had been hiding behind him. "Granger here has had a supremely bad day, and I know for a fact that you have a flask hiding in your knickers," he said, waggling his eyebrows.
Astoria smirked as she laid her eyes on Granger. "Pockets, Draco. Not knickers. Come on in," she replied, opening the door wide to allow them entry.
Draco stepped through, but Granger hung back slightly. "She's a friend, Granger, come on."
Her eyes met his for a brief moment, searching him—trusting him. Finding whatever it was that she needed, Granger stepped through the threshold of Astoria's room and held out her hand. "Hermione Granger, nice to meet you."
Astoria smirked and took Granger's hand. "Astoria Greengrass. I've heard a lot about you," she replied.
Granger's eyebrows rose, a small smirk curving on her lips. "Have you now?"
"She's teasing," Draco insisted. "Astoria?"
"That's right, you're here for beverages," she replied, stepping away from Granger and towards the small kitchen of her room at the inn. Astoria pulled out three smudged glasses and poured a generous amount of firewhiskey into each one. "Well, I'm not a house elf. Come and get it yourselves."
Draco rolled his eyes and Granger laughed, both moving towards the kitchen and grabbing their respective glasses of firewhiskey. Draco watched Granger for a second as she downed her first drink, before taking a small sip himself. He was already slightly drunk—he didn't want to pass out on the floor in front of her.
Astoria poured another tumbler of whiskey for Granger, who took one large swallow, then another. "Cheers to supremely bad days," said Astoria, raising her glass in the air.
"Cheers!" Granger shouted, clearly already feeling the effects of the alcohol.
The three sat at the island for over an hour, drinking, and laughing and talking. Granger and Astoria got along well—he was sure that they would—and Draco watched as the last tinges of sadness faded from her face. She had had a bad day, but he had made it better. He smiled inwardly as he took a sip of his own drink.
As laughing faded, Astoria finally broached the subject: "So, what happened, Granger?" Astoria asked, tipping her glass back for a sip, settling herself against the counter of the small kitchen.
"Let's see," Granger began, holding her hands up, ticking off the offenses with her fingertips, "My long-time boyfriend broke up with me via owl this morning—"
"Owl?" Astoria interrupted.
"Yes, Owl."
"Harsh," Astoria, replied, with another sip.
"This one," Granger said, gesticulating wildly at Draco, "yelled at me in Diagon Alley."
Astoria looked to Draco, her brow furrowed. "Seriously, Draco?"
"I have since apologized," Draco replied, holding up his hands.
"Did you break any furniture this time, by the way?" Granger asked, taking another gulp of her drink and looking to him.
"No," Draco replied.
Astoria was grinning as she watched them. "Broken furniture?" The implications of that particular detail clear on her face.
Granger giggled, a foreign sound, one he had certainly never heard before. "He has this horrible habit of just apparating directly into my shop—unannounced and for absolutely no reason. Last time, he did it drunk and broke one of my chairs."
"Her fault," Draco replied, pointing at Astoria.
"Ah, sure," Granger said with a chuckle.
"If it makes you feel better, Granger, he yelled at me, too," Astoria said with a grin.
"You're not supposed to yell at ladies, Malfoy," Granger said cheekily.
"Our boy's got a bit of temper on him is all," Astoria said with a laugh, placing her hand against Draco's cheek.
It was quick, but Draco saw it—the flicker of Granger's eyes on Astoria's wrist, then Draco's cheek. She appraised it coolly for a moment before she threw back the last of her firewhiskey and rose, slightly unsteadily. "I'll get out of your hair," she muttered, walking towards the door.
"Granger, wait—"
"'S fine. I'll go—"
Astoria gaped at him, removing her hand from his cheek. "Sorry," she mouthed.
Granger was already out in the hallway before he caught her. "Granger, stop. You're drunk, at least let me help you home."
"You're drunk," she accused.
"I'm accustomed to it," he replied.
"Don't wanna drag you away from your girlfriend."
Jealous. She was jealous.
Draco could not help but grin. "Granger, hang on a moment. Astoria is not my girlfriend. She's a friend."
"Yeah, sure," she argued.
"Oi, Granger, she'd rather date you than me."
Granger pulled away from him roughly. "What? That doesn't—Oh." Her eyes widened in understanding.
"Not my girlfriend," Draco repeated soundly.
"I—" she began, looking horrified.
"Don't worry about it. She won't be offended."
"I was horribly rude just now," she said, mouth agape.
"Come back in—apologize. She'll forgive you. I think she likes you," he replied with a grin.
"Okay. But I think I should go home—" she cut off with a groan, "Harry and Ginny's, I suppose—I am a bit drunk."
"Just a bit," he replied with a laugh, opening up door to Astoria's room once more.
"Oi, you lovebirds work it out yet?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.
"Astoria," Draco warned.
She shrugged. "You know how I am."
Granger looked between Astoria and Draco a few times before she grinned. "I was so rude right then, Astoria, I wanted to apologize to you before I left."
"No worries, Granger; I know what it looked like. I assure you I am not interested. Neither is he," she replied with a smirk.
Granger gaped, attempting to speak, but ultimately clamping her mouth shut. "Yes, well. I must be going now."
Astoria nodded. "Let's do this again—it was fun," she said, winking at Draco.
"You're horrible."
"Yet you keep owling me," Astoria replied with a tilt of her head.
"Come on, Granger, let's get you home."
"Not home," she murmured. "Harry and Ginny's."
"Oh, gods, that's right. Astoria, could we use your Floo?"
Astoria grinned. "Gods, this is getting good. All yours, Draco."
Draco led Granger over to the fireplace in Astoria's room, taking a handful of Floo powder in his hand. "What's the address, Granger?"
"12 Grimmauld Place," she murmured sleepily, and then they were twirling through space before landing soundly in the fireplace of one Harry Potter.
"Hermione?" called a voice as soon as they stepped through the Floo. "Hermione!" the voice shouted as soon as they lied eyes on him; or at least, he presumed.
The dust of the fireplace settled, and Draco was suddenly face-to-face with Harry Potter himself. "Relax, Potter, she's fine. Just a bit drunk."
"Why's she with you?" he asked suspiciously, drawing his wand.
"She is right here and can hear you. Put the wand away, Harry. He's harmless," Granger said, stepping out of the fireplace and stumbling.
"He's a Death Eater," Potter replied coldly, not moving his wand, his gaze intent.
Granger stepped directly in front of Potter's wand, and Draco felt his muscles tense—he wanted to pull her away. "Wand down, Harry," she ordered.
Potter obeyed, lowering his wand. "What in the name of Merlin is going on?" he asked, still eyeing Draco suspiciously.
"I was just making sure she got home—" Draco began.
"Malfoy got me drunk—" Granger finished.
Potter's wand was raised again, despite Granger. "Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?" Potter almost yelled.
Granger scoffed. "Draco wouldn't lay a hand on me."
Potter's eyes flashed to his, then back to Granger. "Draco?"
"Potter," Draco interrupted, "she's fine. Just a bit tipsy. You can quit with the interrogation."
Potter's eyes narrowed. "There would be no interrogation if there wasn't a Death Eater standing in my foyer."
"Hey!" He bought me ice cream, Harry!" Granger argued unhelpfully.
She was wasted and it was absolutely adorable.
"Look, I just wanted to make sure she got home all right—"
"Not home," she muttered.
"Semantics, Granger—"
"—Couch. Which I had to transfigure," she continued, grumbling.
"Potter, she's drunk, can you just—you can threaten my life tomorrow or something," Draco pleaded.
"You'll do no such thing, Harry!" Granger shouted.
Potter sighed, seemingly resigned. "Hermione, come here," he said, opening his arms for her.
Hermione obeyed and launched herself into his arms. "Love you, Harry," she murmured.
Potter glared at him. "I swear, Malfoy—"
"She's fine. Just drunk and a little sad. She said it—I wouldn't lay a hand on her. Just—get her to bed, okay?"
Potter hung onto Granger for a moment, before nodding. "You can leave now, Malfoy," he said coldly.
"Make sure she gets some water in her before she goes to sleep," Draco said, stepping back into the Floo.
"I don't want to see you here again."
"I'm only here for Hermione—If not for her, I wouldn't be here at all."
Draco blanched before disappearing through the fireplace, wondering just how true that statement was.