Draco didn't remember most of the day. After Hermione had pried the bottle of firewhiskey from his fingers, his memory mostly whited out until he found himself waking hours later in a dark bedroom, Hermione's arms wrapped around him tightly. "Hermione?" he rasped.
Her arms tightened around him minutely. "I'm here," she said quietly.
"Did I just have a nightmare?" he asked hopefully.
"No," Hermione replied softly.
"Oh."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Draco didn't know how to respond. He wanted a drink. He gulped.
In the living room, the Floor roared to life, and Hermione groaned. "That's Harry, then," she said. "Stay here, I'll talk to him."
Draco shook his head, already rising. "No. I'll talk to him."
"Draco—"
"I need to talk to him about a Portkey, remember?" he said, pulling a shirt over his head.
"'Mione!" Potter called from the Floo.
"Draco—"
"You're going to see your parents," Draco interrupted, leaving no room for argument.
Hermione scowled but nodded.
Draco closed the bedroom door as he left it and headed for the Floo. Potter appeared moments after Draco unlocked the Floo. "Where's 'Mione?" he asked as he dusted off his trousers.
"Asleep," Draco replied coldly.
"Ah, good mood gone, then," replied Potter.
"Yes."
Potter studied him for a moment before speaking again, hesitantly, "Are you all right, Malfoy?"
Draco didn't bother answering, and he looked away from Potter. "I need a Portkey, for the weekend. Hermione wants to see her parents."
"This weekend?" Potter asked.
Draco nodded.
"That's very short notice, Malfoy."
"I'm aware. That's why I'm asking you about it."
"You're not so much asking, as telling—"
"Hermione wants to see her parents."
"Malfoy, are you all right—"
"Hermione just wants to see her fucking parents. Can you help or not?"
"Yeah," Potter said after a moment. "Yeah, I can get her a Portkey."
"Good," Draco said simply.
"You're being weird."
"He's being Malfoy." Draco turned to find Hermione standing in the doorway of their bedroom, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared at him intently. "It's not real."
"What?" Potter asked, his brow furrowing.
Hermione sighed. "Harry—it's been a bad day," she replied.
Potter's eyes flickered to his, and Draco stared at him. "Yes," he agreed icily.
Potter then looked to Hermione. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, moving past Draco and towards Hermione.
"I'm fine, Harry," she assured, coming up behind Draco and wrapping a hand around his forearm.
Potter narrowed his eyes. "What is going on, Hermione?" he asked.
"None of your business, Potter," Draco snarled.
Potter took another step forward. "I think it fucking is," he replied threateningly.
Hermione released Draco's forearm and stepped between them. "Stop," she said quietly. "Both of you—stop. Harry, I'm fine. I swear. It has been a very bad day and Draco is just being an arse. And you," she continued, pointing at Draco. "Can you stop? It's not his fault."
Draco felt himself deflate. "I wanted you to get your Portkey."
Potter's eyes watched them both intently, surveying them. "What's going on?"
Hermione looked up to him, her eyes questioning. Draco scoffed. "You can tell him. I'm going back to bed."
"Draco—" she called after him.
"Goodnight, Potter," Draco said, waving his hand and heading back to the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and curled up on Hermione's side of the bed with no intention of actually going to sleep. He wasn't tired—not in the way that it counted.
Hermione returned after half-an-hour. "Malfoy," she called.
Draco paused for a minute before he spoke. "I'm not Malfoy anymore," he said quietly.
He felt the mattress dip next to him, and then her fingers were stroking his shoulder. "Draco," she said quietly.
"Yes," he replied.
"I just wanted to make sure it was you."
"Potter probably thinks I'm hurting you," he said.
"No," she assured. "I told him. About your mother."
"I just wanted you to get your Portkey."
"He said he would get me one," she replied.
"If she's not—"
"I know," Hermione replied instantly. "You can't go to Australia when your mother is like this. Perhaps I'll ask Ginny."
Draco nodded, but looked up at her desperately. "I wanted to see them."
Hermione smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Maybe Healer Wilson was right, and she'll be fine tomorrow. Then we can go to Australia."
"Maybe," he replied absently.
Sighing, Hermione lowered herself onto the bed, curling up on his side of the bed to face him. She placed a hand on his cheek, and gently began to stroke his jaw.
Draco closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. After a moment, he spoke: "I just—for once—I thought that something was going my way. I thought—finally—finally—things would look up for me. Just once."
Hermione paused her ministrations for just a fraction of a second. "It's not over, Draco," she said softly. "You heard Healer Wilson—memory can be a fickle thing. You can't just give up."
Draco nodded against her hand. "I know, Hermione. But you know how it's been for me, it's just problem after problem and I feel like I'll never be out of this fucking cycle that I'm trapped in."
Hermione shifted on the bed, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him into her. "We're going to get through this, Draco."
"I know," he replied, more for Hermione's benefit than any real belief that his situation would get any better. With a sigh, he buried his face against her shoulder, hoping that if he could just cling to her, the outside world would just disappear, just leaving them alone in each other's arms. "You think she'll be better tomorrow?" he asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder.
"I don't know, Draco," she answered honestly. "But I hope so."
"Will you come with me?" Draco asked in a small voice.
Hermione had begun to toy absently with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. "Of course I'm coming with you," she said fiercely. "We'll go before I open the shop—I can skip brewing in the morning for one day."
"Thank you," he replied.
"Of course," Hermione said, running her fingers through his hair. After a moment of silence, she spoke again: "I promised her that I'd take care of you."
Draco laughed bitterly, meeting her eyes. "That's all you've done since the day I walked into your shop."
Hermione frowned. "Stop. Don't do that," she admonished. "We take care of each other."
Draco softened at her words. "Do I?" he asked. "Do I take care of you?"
"Of course you do," she replied, her brows furrowed. "You just got me a Portkey, remember?"
"Right," Draco said quietly.
"Don't doubt yourself, Draco," Hermione continued. "Don't doubt us."
"No." He sighed. "Of course I'm not doubting us," Draco replied softly. "That's the one thing that I don't doubt."
Hermione sighed, nuzzling into him. "I don't see either of us getting a wink of sleep tonight. Do you want some Dreamless Sleep?"
Draco thought for a moment. No, he did not want Dreamless Sleep—he wanted a large tumbler, filled to the brim with firewhiskey. He wanted to drink it slowly, feeling the spicy amber liquid on his tongue. He wanted to feel the warmth as it slid down his esophagus, and the feeling of contentment as that delicious warmth settled deep in his belly. He wanted to drink until his head became fuzzy and everything around him appeared brighter, and shinier, and more beautiful. He wanted to drink until he could no longer feel. And when he could no longer feel, he wanted to forget.
This was out of the question, of course, so Draco merely nodded his assent. Hermione left the bed briefly, before returning with two vials of Dreamless Sleep potion. With a small smile to Hermione, Draco drained the vial with one gulp, pretending that it was firewhiskey.
Hermione woke him earlier than usual, her brows furrowed in consternation. "Wake up," she said softly, pushing his hair back from his forehead, mussing it. Draco groaned, rolling over in the bed to face her. "What time is it?" he grumbled, grasping her hips and pulling her close, wanting to keep her in bed for just a bit longer.
"7," she answered. "Visiting hours begin in half-an-hour."
Draco's eyes snapped open, suddenly remembering the previous day. "Fuck," he swore, running a hand across his face.
"You forgot," Hermione said quietly. "I'm sorry—that was the wrong way to wake you up."
Draco sighed heavily. "I didn't forget—I just—"
"Effects of Dreamless Sleep," Hermione interrupted. "I should've—"
"Hermione, stop," Draco said. "Stop apologizing." He kissed her soundly.
Hermione bit her lip hesitantly, nodding shortly before she rose from the bed. She dressed quickly in her usual garb—denims and a jumper, seemingly unconcerned with how his mother now saw her—and attempted to run a brush through her hair before throwing it down on the dresser with a frustrated clatter. "Get up," she repeated, more firmly.
Draco hadn't realized that he hadn't moved from the bed. He scrambled from the bed and dressed quickly. When he was done, he found Hermione at the door of her flat, tapping her foot impatiently as she gnawed absently on her bottom lip. As he joined her at the door, he ran his index finger over her bottom lip, causing her to release it. "Stop," he said gently. "Ready?"
She nodded hurriedly, instantly grabbing his hand and apparating them to the alleyway closest to Purge and Dowse, Ltd. Hermione dragged him from the alleyway and towards the defunct furniture store, seemingly on a mission. She dragged him through the atrium, past the witch that sat at the desk, and to the lifts. When the lifts reached the 4th floor, she then pulled him from the lift and towards his mother's room. It was only here that she paused. "I should go in first," she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Draco stared at her for a few moments even as she refused to meet his eyes, before his own eyes flickered towards the door. His stomach dropped, and he turned back to her. "Okay," he said quietly.
Finally, she met his eyes, her face tipping upwards to face him fully. "I love you," she said, comfortingly.
Draco nodded. "I know," he replied. "And I love you. Just—go."
Hermione sighed and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. "I'll be back." With that, she left him and barged through the door, closing it soundly behind her.
His heart pounding painfully in his chest, Draco forced himself to sit on the uncomfortable bench outside his mother's rooms, his head tipped back against the wall and his eyes trained intently on the door of his mother's room.
Hermione was gone for much too long.
When she finally returned, her face was puffy and her eyes red as if she had been crying. She sat down on the bench with him, grabbing his hand. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"She's the same," Draco concluded.
"No, she's a bit better," Hermione replied tightly.
"Better?" he questioned.
"Different," she said.
"Should I—?" Draco began.
"Yes. I think you should see her. You might help."
Draco nodded, but made no attempt to move.
"She's okay, Draco," Hermione said softly. "Her mind is a mess, but physically—she's in very good condition. She's okay."
Draco forced himself to nod. "Right," he said stiffly.
"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked, grabbing his hand and squeezing it.
Draco shook his head. "No, no. I should—It should be just us, I think."
Hermione seemed to sense his inability to move, as she stood and pulled him up by his hand. Awkwardly, Draco stood, running his hands down his denims as if they were trousers. Hermione opened the door for him, gently pushing him inside. Draco only exhaled when she closed the door behind him.
His mother sat by the window, her elbow propped on the sill and her head in her hand, studying the outdoors thoughtfully. "Draco, darling! You're back."
He nearly wept. "Mother," he cried, rushing towards her. "Are you okay?"
"Darling! Of course I'm okay!" she replied, smiling brightly.
"You know who I am?" Draco asked, hesitantly.
"Of course, my son!" she said, chuckling as she drew him near.
Draco wanted to cry. "You remember me?" he asked again.
She held him close. "I was in labor with you for over 36 hours, darling, how could I ever forget you?"
Draco nodded as she held him, even though he fought the urge to say, "You did forget me. You forgot."
"Do you remember Hermione?" Draco questioned quietly.
"The Granger girl? With the hair? The Mudblood?"
Draco pulled away from her unintentionally. His mother frowned.
"What about Aunt Andromeda?" he asked, without thinking.
His mother stilled. "What about her?" she asked quickly.
"You visit her. I know you do."
Narcissa's eyes grew wide. "You must never tell your father," she pleaded, grasping his forearms. "If he ever found out—" she trailed off.
"Father is in Azkaban," Draco said coldly.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"Father is in Azkaban and Ted Tonks is dead," he replied coldly. "You used to visit Andromeda and Ted, before he died."
"No—I never—"
"You did!"
"No!" his mother had begun to sob.
"Draco, stop. She doesn't remember."
Draco turned around and found Hermione watching him intently. He opened his mouth, but the words never formed.
"She doesn't know," Hermione repeated gently.
"I thought I told you to leave, Mudblood?" Narcissa said.
Draco flinched. "Don't—"
Hermione pulled him through the door. "Stop. She doesn't know. She doesn't know, Draco." She forced him into the hallway. "Stop," she said quietly.
Draco sagged against her. "She doesn't remember," he confirmed, all of his energy suddenly drained from his body.
"No," Hermione replied, taking his hands.
"I thought—" Draco began, before cutting himself off.
"I really hoped she would be okay. I really did," Hermione said apologetically, as if it were somehow her fault that his mother's memory had been short-lived. "I still hope. It could be different tomorrow, Draco. In a week—it could still be different."
Draco knew her assurances were empty. His mother had had a brief respite from her delusions—launched, perhaps unwillingly, into complete lucidity before the most important, relevant memories were once more shoved down into the deepest recesses of her mind. Draco knew, in that moment, that he was unlikely to ever view them again. "It won't be," he concluded.
Hermione stared at him for a brief moment before she spoke again. "It might be," she said fiercely. "I want to talk to Healer Wilson before we leave, as useless as he is."
Draco nodded dumbly, grasping at her fingers as she proffered them. She seemed to know exactly where Healer Wilson's office was, despite never having been there before. Then Draco thought about the previous day—how she stormed through the ward wearing only boxers and a jumper, searching desperately for anyone that worked there. She had probably stumbled upon the Healer's office.
Hermione didn't bother to knock, she simply barged in. "She's the same," she announced ceremoniously. "Did you even do anything?"
Healer Wilson stared up at her, clearly bewildered. "Ms. Granger," he replied tightly. "Pleasure to see you again."
"Skip the bullshit," she replied resolutely. "I want to see Mrs. Malfoy's records."
The Healer's eyes shot to Draco, silently asking permission. Draco nodded without a second thought. Sighing, Healer Wilson pulled a folder from his desk. "I assure you, Ms. Granger, I am doing everything I can. I have administered every potion and every charm that I can think of. This may just be her new normal—one day of lucidity, followed by a long period of fugue."
Ignoring the man, Hermione scanned Narcissa's records with a grim expression, her eyes flying over the pages. Draco was certain he had never seen a person read so fast. When she finished, Hermione closed the folder soundly and dropped it on the desk before grabbing Draco's hand once more and leading him out of the office. "What did it say?" Draco asked as she led him down the hall.
"Nothing I didn't already know," she replied. "He's been doing everything he can."
Draco nodded. "I know."
"I'm sorry, Draco," she said quietly. "I wanted it to be different."
"I know," he repeated.
They continued to walk in tense silence until they reached the alleyway, where Hermione apparated them back to her flat. She didn't speak upon their return either, she simply pulled him into her arms, holding him close. Finally, she asked, "Will you be all right here? Or do you want to come with me?"
"I think I'd like to be alone, actually," he replied, thinking about the bottle of firewhiskey in the cupboard.
Hermione nodded into his shoulder. "If you need me for anything, you know where to find me."
Draco kissed the top of her head. "I know where to find you," he agreed.
"I love you," she said, before she took a large handful of Floo powder and disappeared into green nothingness.
Draco stared at the empty fireplace for a long moment before he headed towards the kitchen and the cupboard that contained his respite. He didn't know what time it was, and he was certain that it was too early in the day for a cocktail, but Draco did know that he didn't care. Hastily, and without ceremony, Draco pulled the firewhiskey from the cupboard and drank from the bottle greedily. The warmth of alcohol slid down his throat, buoying him. This was what he had wanted last night, he thought absently as he took another large swallow.
It wasn't until his mind became fuzzy did Draco pause in his drinking, drawing a large breath and setting the bottle of firewhiskey on the counter. He felt better, his eyelids drawing half-closed as he leaned against the counter, calmed by the effects of the alcohol. Draco sighed, feeling the past two days' events fade into the back of his mind. Feeling finally at peace, Draco glanced towards the clock in the kitchen, which told him that it was 9:30 in the morning. Draco grimaced; it was much too early to be drinking as heavily as he was.
Well, he reasoned, this was all he had wanted. He was done now. Nodding at his reasoning, Draco returned the bottle of Ogden's to its place inside the cupboard, and made his way back to the bedroom, determined to get a bit more sleep.
Lulled by alcohol and the scent of Hermione on the bedsheets, Draco fell into a deep sleep, unperturbed by thoughts of his mother and her worsening condition.
He awoke several hours later, feeling relaxed and content, until his brain reminded him of his mother's condition. Immediately, his heart dropped in his stomach, all remnants of his peaceful nap ruined. Idly, he wondered what time it was—if Hermione would be home soon. Turning to look at Hermione's clock on her bedside table, Draco saw that it was only 1. It would be hours before Hermione returned. With a groan, Draco pulled her pillow into his arms, as if it were an effigy of her, from which he could take comfort.
Then he remembered—there was firewhiskey in the kitchen.
Pushing the sheets aside, Draco rose from the bed and headed back towards the kitchen and the cupboard containing that glorious substance. He had more patience now, taking his time as he pulled the cork from the bottle, filling a tumbler with ice and pouring the firewhiskey reverently into that tumbler. Draco peered out the window of Hermione's kitchen as he stood with tumbler in hand, waiting for the ice to cool his drink. When the glass had begun to cool his hand, he finally took a sip, his eyes closing in pleasure.
Draco passed the day this way, drinking slowly and watching the goings-on of the bustling Diagon Alley on the streets below.
When the clock struck 4:45, Draco hurriedly drained what remained of his glass before washing it and drying it with magic before setting the glass and the bottle of firewhiskey back in the cupboard. He settled himself in front of the telly, content to wait for Hermione. Crookshanks jumped into his lap, his yellow eyes narrow as he seemingly glared at Draco. "What?" he asked the cat, who merely tilted his head in response.
At 5:15, the Floo roared to life and Hermione appeared, her expression closed. As soon as her eyes found him, though, she shot him a small smile. "Hi," she said quietly, striding over to him and kissing his forehead. "How are you?"
"Better now," he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down onto his lap.
Instantly, she looped her hands around his shoulders, relaxing into him. She pushed the hair from his forehead so that she could peer down at him fully. "Really," she continued, "how was your day?"
Draco shrugged, pulling her in so that he could hold her closer. He could never get close enough to her. "It was okay. I just tried to sleep, hang out with Crookshanks," he lied. "Tried not to think."
Hermione nodded, studying his face, seemingly to check him for any severe mental anguish. Finding none, she leaned forward, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. "I was worried about you," she admitted.
Draco returned her kiss, pressing harder, wanting to savor her. "I don't want you to spend the day worrying about me when you're supposed to be working. You're stressed enough at the shop already."
"I'm exhausted. I was so busy today," Hermione replied, resting her chin atop his head. "It seemed like I didn't have a free moment. I wanted to do some research for your mother's case, but I never had the chance."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you today," Draco said apologetically. Suddenly, he felt very guilty. Hermione had been running around all day with no help, while he had sat here drinking and sleeping and feeling sorry for himself. Draco crushed her against him. "I'll be there tomorrow, I promise."
She chuckled. "It's not that big of a deal, Draco. I'm just a little more tired than usual."
"Hmm," Draco replied. "You forget that I know you, Hermione. You'll run yourself ragged before you admit you need a little help."
"True," Hermione relented. "But you needed the day off."
Draco frowned, feeling very much like he had let Hermione down. He needed to fix this, immediately. "How about takeaway and a bath?" he asked, squeezing her waist.
Hermione groaned in appreciation. "Yes, please," she replied.
They ate Pad See Eaw on the floor in front of the telly before Draco ran a hot bath for them. Hermione remained in front of the telly, stabbing at the last bits of their food with a pair of chopsticks before Draco easily scooped her up over his shoulder and carried her to the bathroom, where he placed her on the fluffy white bathmat. He undressed her slowly, his eyes scanning every inch of her body before he undressed himself and slid into the water, beckoning for her. "Come here," he said softly.
Hermione climbed into the water, settling herself between his legs and resting her head against his bare chest. Draco gathered her curls and pulled them over his shoulder and away from the water, baring her cheek for him to kiss.
"See?" she said after a moment. "You take care of me."
"Mmm," he agreed absently, his hands beginning to rub her shoulders, hoping to ease some of the tension that rested there.
Hermione sighed in pleasure, leaning forward a bit to make Draco's movements easier. "That feels nice," she said softly.
Draco kissed her shoulder blade as he continued to massage. "You're very tense," he commented.
"It was a long day," Hermione said quietly.
"Relax," Draco urged.
"I'm just worried about your mother—and I need to owl Astoria, see how she's doing—"
"Hermione," Draco interrupted.
"Hmm?" she asked.
"The bath is a no-worry zone," he murmured into her ear, causing her to shiver despite the heat of the bath.
"You're not worried?" Hermione asked.
Draco sighed. "Of course I'm worried. I just—I get to worry less when I'm with you."
"It's going to be okay," she confirmed.
"Yes," Draco agreed absently.
"A no-worry zone?" Hermione asked, peering over her shoulder at him, smiling lightly. "Then what kind of zone is the bath?"
Draco shrugged, kissing the nape of her neck. "Whatever kind of zone you want it to be."
"Is it a book zone?"
Draco paused his ministrations on her shoulders. "Well, I suppose it can be," he replied. She was gone in an instant, splashing bathwater all over Draco's chest and torso. "What—"
Hermione returned, holding a leatherbound book in her hands. "Are your hands dry? Here—hold this," she said, pressing the book into his hands once she had confirmed that they were dry, and slipped back into the bath. "Give it," she continued once she had settled between his legs again.
Draco handed her the book, and watched, bewildered, as she leaned back against his chest and began to read intently. "Of course you wanted to read," he muttered.
"It might help your mother," she replied softly.
He sighed, but attempted to relax in the bath, content to let Hermione lie on his chest and read a complex tome on the magical memory. She read for nearly an hour, flipping page after page, reading at an inhumanly fast rate until the water began to cool. Eventually, Draco felt himself chill a bit, and pushed gently at Hermione's shoulders. "Time to get out, I'm starting to freeze."
Hermione stepped from the bath, placing the book reverently on the laundry hamper. Draco joined her, wrapping a towel around her body in an effort to keep her warm, before he wrapped his own towel around his hips.
They dried, and fell into bed, naked, without a word. Draco pulled Hermione in close, and was certain she was headed towards sleep, when she suddenly spoke, "Is the bed a worry-free zone?"
His hold on her tightened minutely. "No. The bed is a worry zone."
"I thought so," she replied, her voice tired. "Will we go see her again? Tomorrow?"
"I don't know if there's a point, Hermione. Today was just—it was painful."
"I'll go then—just to make sure she's all right," Hermione offered.
"Hermione—"
"I'm going to check on her," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "We'll both spend all day wondering if I don't."
"I suppose you're right," Draco relented.
There was a long pause, and Draco was again certain that Hermione was falling asleep, until she spoke again: "You were drinking today." It wasn't a question.
Draco did not respond. He didn't want to lie to her, and he didn't want to tell her the truth.
"I could taste it on your lips," she continued.
Fuck. He should've brushed his teeth. "I'm sorry," he offered lamely.
Hermione rolled over in his arms to face him. "I'm not mad," she said, her fingers gently touching his cheek. "I just don't—I already worry about you, Draco. I don't want to worry about you more."
"You don't have to. You won't. I won't anymore," he promised.
"Okay," she said softly, placing her hands over where his rested on her abdomen, twining their fingers together. "Okay."