As Draco had predicted, he did not sleep well. Neither did Crookshanks.
Draco was no longer accustomed to sleeping alone, and it became clear during the night that Crookshanks was not as receptive to being held as Hermione was—at least not that night. On his third attempt to spoon the cat, he was met with an indignant hiss and left with a large scratch on his forearm. "Fuck," he swore as Crookshanks leapt from the bed with an irritated swish of his tail. "I didn't ask you to sleep with me, you know," Draco muttered to Crookshanks, who was now standing in the doorway, watching Draco with his yellow eyes.
Crookshanks meowed loudly.
Draco sighed. "Come here," he said. "I won't try to cuddle with you again."
The cat eyed him for a moment before rejoining him on the bed and curling up on Hermione's pillow.
Draco stayed true to his word and did not reach for Crookshanks again, but he also found himself unable to fall asleep, so he spent the remainder of the night tossing and turning, which, in turn, disturbed Crookshanks even further.
As the first rays of light began to stream through the window, Draco left the bed and headed into the kitchen, Crookshanks trotting expectantly at his heels. Draco fed Crookshanks a bit of tuna that Hermione had left for him in a can and made himself a truly rubbish cup of tea, which he drank with a grimace. Hermione's tea was far superior to his own, he thought absently.
Draco peered out the window as he sipped his horrible tea. The hour was too early, and there were no other people on the street. Besides him and Crookshanks, Draco felt like he was completely alone in the world. Logically, of course, he knew that not to be the case. Halfway across the world there was a lovely curly-haired witch preparing to see her parents for the first time in months. Draco wondered how she had slept last night—if she had slept last night, or if she had fared as well as he had. Idly, Draco wondered what time it was in Australia—he had no idea of the time difference. Maybe she was still asleep, or perhaps she had started her day long ago. He hoped desperately to hear from her soon.
With a sigh, Draco mentally catalogued everything he planned to do that day. His best strategy for keeping his mind off Hermione and that bottle of Ogden's in the cupboard was to keep it busy elsewhere. The first thing Draco planned to do was visit his mother. It had been days since he had seen her last and for the most part, he had tried to keep his thoughts far away from her condition. He was afraid that he would have a complete breakdown if he allowed himself to think about it too much. Truthfully, Draco had been more than happy to allow Hermione to take the lead on visiting his mother.
He realized, however, that it had been far too long since he had visited his sick mother, and he could no longer put off the anxiety-inducing task. Besides, he reasoned, he was feeling more emotionally stable than he had at the beginning of the week. There had been no changes according to Hermione, so he was certainly much more prepared for her condition than he had been when he first found her.
Draco sipped his rapidly cooling tea, wondering if he was truly prepared to see his mother again.
Not that it mattered. He was her son. She had given birth to him, had raised him, had loved him. He would not abandon her.
Then, he continued mentally, he would do some more cleaning at the Manor. Perhaps the library today? That would be a nice surprise for Hermione when she returned, he reasoned. He could always enlist Jinxy for her help. Perhaps later on he would pay a visit to Astoria. Hermione had been corresponding with her via owl regularly, but Draco hadn't seen or heard from her since that disastrous night at the Hawthorn Inn. Finally, he would round out the evening brewing some potions for Hermione. The night before she left, she had handed him a long piece of parchment with a blush and a faint quirk of her lips. "Do what you can—or want," she had said shyly.
Yes, it was best to stay busy—to keep his hands busy. He was less likely to seek out the bottle of firewhiskey if his hands were busy. As if on cue, his fingers twitched faintly and he frowned, tightening his hold on his teacup. It certainly didn't help that he kept thinking about that damnable bottle of firewhiskey. He would be much less inclined to drink if he could just stop picturing the stupid thing hidden inside its cupboard.
Draco looked towards the clock on the wall. It was still much too early, but he was already restless. When he was finished with his cup of tea, Draco took a long hot shower, hoping that it would ease his mind. When he had finished, he dried himself with a charm and dressed himself carefully for the day, donning a pair of dark gray woolen slacks and a soft black jumper. Having finished dressing, Draco looked back towards the clock. It was only 6:45. Draco scowled.
He busied his hands by feeding Crookshanks treats on the table and making another terrible cup of tea before perusing the list Hermione had left for him, cataloguing what ingredients he needed, before realizing that Hermione certainly had all the ingredients stored at the shop. Draco sighed, once more sipping at his terrible excuse for tea.
By the time 7:30 finally rolled around, Draco was bubbling with anxiety and his fingers were twitching constantly. Depositing his empty teacup on the counter, Draco curled his hands into fists, willing his fingers to still before he apparated to the alleyway near Purge and Dowse, Ltd. When he appeared, his fingers began to tremble even more, and he leaned against the brick wall in the alleyway, taking several deep breaths.
Having calmed himself slightly, Draco began to walk once more towards the concealed entrance of St. Mungo's. When he entered, the witch at the front desk saw him, and her eyes widened in surprise. Draco tried to force a small smile to his lips, but it felt more like a grimace. He looked away instead.
He made his way to his mother's room, closing his eyes and taking in several deep breaths before he quietly opened the door and let himself inside. She was at the little table in the room, right next to the window. She was staring out the window blankly. Draco swallowed before he called for her, "Mother?" he said softly.
Narcissa turned to look at him, her expression just as blank. "Hello," she replied with a tilt of her head.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked quietly.
She stared at him for a long moment before replying. "No," she said in a dull voice. "The only one who visits me is the girl—the one with the hair."
Draco took a chance and sat at in the chair across from her. "That's Hermione," he said quietly. "Do you remember her?"
Narcissa scoffed. "She comes every day, for reasons I cannot fathom. I wouldn't be able to forget her if I tried. What did you say your name was?" she asked after a moment.
Draco swallowed again. "Draco," he said quietly, his eyes locked on his fingers.
She laughed heartily. "A very odd name indeed, Draco," she said. "More fitting for the girl, really. She's much more ferocious."
Draco's head snapped up in surprise, his brows furrowed. "What did you say?" he asked.
"The girl, with the hair—your girlfriend, I presume?—she is very ferocious," Narcissa replied genially. "She yells at that Healer every time he comes in to see me. I think he's afraid of her, and no wonder—when she gets angry her magic practically crackles off of her."
Draco could feel his lips twitching into a half-smile of their own accord. "Yes, that sounds about right."
"They're interesting creatures—dragons," she mused, her head tilted back towards the window. "Ferocious, extremely protective, very possessive. In mythology, they are often said to be exceedingly lazy and love gold more than anything." Narcissa paused to laugh lightly. "Nothing could be further from the truth. They are cunning, and ambitious, and terribly, terribly, clever."
Draco watched her in rapt attention.
"My great-grandfather had a dragon," she said, shaking her head lightly and furrowing her brow as if the memory had just come to her. "A Norwegian Ridgeback. Not the best choice for a pet, if you ask me. They're not the most dangerous dragons, not by a long shot, but even as whelps they are able to breathe fire. And it's the females you have to look out for—always—they're the most vicious." Narcissa shuddered. "I wouldn't want to come between one and her roost, that's for certain."
Draco narrowed his eyes as he watched her. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.
Narcissa turned back to look at him, her expression once again blank. "You've got a dragon, my dear. You should be careful, lest you get burned."
Draco slammed his eyes shut, wishing once again for his occlumency. His fingers were trembling against his thighs, and he fought the urge to slam them against the table. "What—?" he began, before he cut himself off with a shake of his head. First, the dragon would protect him, and now this? He shook his head again. "You keep telling me different things," he finally said in a choked voice.
She stared him dully. "They mate for life, you know," she continued, unaffected by his outburst, "Dragons. Most people don't know that."
He looked up at her sharply. "I didn't know that."
"Like I said, most people don't," she replied coldly.
Draco stared at her, unsure of how to respond. "Your point?" he asked finally, feeling very much like he wasn't talking to his mother at all.
Narcissa shrugged. "You've got a dragon," she replied simply.
Draco exhaled deeply before he rose without another word. He steeled himself—he could still use occlumency—he could—as he marched towards Healer Wilson's office. Just as Hermione had done, he wrenched it open without asking. Healer Wilson visibly flinched as the door was thrown wide. His eyes settled on Draco and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.
"Yes," Draco replied icily.
The Healer looked relieved. "I was expecting Ms. Granger," he admitted.
"She's in Australia," Draco said coldly.
Healer Wilson exhaled deeply. "Thank goodness," he said under his breath.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Watch yourself," he warned. "That is my girlfriend you're talking about, and I know that I'm paying double what you'd charge anyone else."
Healer Wilson swallowed. "Mr. Malfoy—"
"I know what I am. I know what my family is. I'm fine with paying extra because of it. But don't you ever—ever—insult her in front of me," Draco interrupted. "And I know you're doing everything you can. But maybe—just maybe—do more. I am paying you more, after all."
Healer Wilson nodded mutely, and Draco left the office, his shoulders rigid. As he left the office, he peered back down the hall to where his mother's room was. He wasn't sure whether he should bother to say goodbye to her or not—she clearly did not regard him as her son, or anyone she even remotely cared about. This particular visit left him with more questions than answers, as was often the case. This, though, had truly been the most bizarre visit. Draco shook his head. No, saying goodbye would be a pointless endeavor.
Draco left St. Mungo's and apparated directly to the Manor, determined not to think about the very strange visit he had just had with his mother, or the fact that he desperately wanted to talk to Hermione, or the bottle of Ogden's Finest Firewhiskey in the cupboard at home. He made his way up the walk, the cold winter wind tousling his hair and chapping his skin. He took several deep breaths of the icy air, and it calmed him somewhat.
His bedroom had been mostly cleared out with the exception of his bathroom, and Draco reasoned that he would begin there before beginning work on the library. He was certain that it wouldn't take very long—most of his personal items had already made their way to the flat when he had started staying overnight with Hermione.
He made quick work of the bathroom, gathering the products he wanted to keep and shrinking them before throwing the rest away. His sink was mostly empty, his toiletries being some of the first to move to the flat. He checked the drawers and shrunk the items there, placing them with the rest of his toiletries.
All that was left now was the bottom cupboard. Draco swung the door open and was surprised by what he found there: A basket of full of vials containing a vibrantly pink potion. Draco blinked, confused, before he remembered that this was the Depression Draught that Hermione had brewed for him and his mother all those months ago. He had taken it and tucked it away without a second thought. He shrugged to himself and shrunk the basket down with the rest of the items before he called for Jinxy.
Jinxy appeared instantly. "Master Dracos, sirs! What is you doings here?" the elf asked with a bit of confusion. "Where is Mistress Hermione?"
Draco sighed, realizing he hadn't even explained the situation to Jinxy yet. He kneeled down so that he was face-to-face with her. "I actually need to talk to you about something, Jinxy," he said.
Jinxy nodded but stayed silent.
"I've given the Manor to the Ministry," Draco continued unceremoniously. "Lucius—well—Lucius was doing quite a bit during the War. He stole money."
Jinxy's eyes widened.
Draco shook his head. "Anyways, the Ministry found out, and I'm giving them the Manor to repay the debt."
Jinxy squeaked in despair, her gnarled little hands reaching for Draco. "Master, sirs —!" she cried.
He caught her hands and gently squeezed her fingers. "Now, I don't want you to worry about anything. If you wish to stay here, then you shall. I have made it so they cannot bother you. And if you don't—well, I don't know, but we'll figure something out. Either way, you will be taken care of," he reassured.
The elf had begun to cry. "Jinxy wants to stay heres, sirs! This is Jinxy's home!"
"Oh, Jinxy," he said sadly. "Please don't cry. If you want to stay, then you will stay."
She sniffled a bit, wiping her tears away with her free hand. "Will Jinxy still be working for Master Malfoy?" she asked.
Draco nodded. "Yes, Jinxy. You will work for me for as long as you wish to. Even if I no longer own this property, I will pay you the same wages I pay you now to take care of it."
Jinxy hiccupped. "Master Draco is most generous," she said softly. "Is Master Draco needing anything?"
Draco nodded, squeezing her fingers again before rising to his full height. "I've just finished cleaning out my bathroom. Can you take all of it to Hermione's flat and then meet me on the first floor of the library?"
"Sirs, yes sirs!" Jinxy cried, gathering his belongings her arms before apparating away with a crack.
Draco spent most of the afternoon in the library with Jinxy as they shrunk book after book, forming small stacks on a desk table. When the stacks became too tall and began to wobble, Jinxy would apparate to the flat and place them in the second bedroom, ready to be resized at Hermione's leisure. It was mindless work, but it kept Draco's hands busy and his mind quiet, and for that he was thankful.
They cleared out an entire wall of books before Draco's stomach began to growl and he dismissed Jinxy, returning to the flat with the final stack of books. He had foregone Jinxy's offer to make him lunch, preferring a hastily assembled sandwich that he ate while leaning against the counter. His eyes again shot to the clock. It was 5 p.m. Draco was pleased that he had managed to keep himself busy for as many hours as he had. His mind had not flickered to the bottle of firewhiskey once, and Hermione had only crossed his mind a dozen or so times.
Thinking of Hermione, he looked to the fireplace, which remained dark. Draco sighed and his fingers twitched.
Astoria. She was next on the list.
Draco apparated just outside of the Hawthorn Inn, where he quickly made his way to Astoria's room and knocked lightly at the door with his knuckles. She answered after several moments, dressed in a pair of track pants and a ratty white t-shirt. Her hair was thrown up messily and had clearly not been washed in several days. She was pale and wan-looking, with dark circles cresting just below her eyes which widened as she took him in. "Draco," she said in a near whisper, her eyes darting down each end of the hall before she ushered him inside, slamming the door behind him.
"Astoria," he greeted, furrowing his brow.
She smiled up at him nervously. "Why are you here?" she asked.
Draco blinked. "I haven't seen heard from you since last Saturday," he replied. "I wanted to check in."
"Ah," she replied, heading to the kitchen. "Beer?"
Draco grimaced. Suddenly, he understood the look that had flickered across Hermione's face when he had mentioned Astoria. "No," he replied, his voice raspy. "Thank you, though."
Astoria shrugged, slamming a bottle of beer down on the corner of the counter, the cap flying off and across the room towards him. Instinctively, Draco caught it and smirked. "Ever the Seeker, I see," Astoria replied with a chuckle, taking a swig of her beer.
"Old habits die hard," he admitted. "You could've just used your wand, you know."
"Less dramatic. Plus, I snapped my wand," Astoria said, taking another sip.
"What?" Draco asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.
"Not on purpose," she said defensively. "Well, at least I don't think so." She furrowed her own brow.
"What?" he repeated dumbly.
Astoria shrugged again. "I woke up the other morning and the blasted thing was in two pieces. No matter, I'll replace it in a few days."
Draco stared at her, not knowing what to say. He glanced around the room, which was dimly lit. There were dirty dishes everywhere—cups, plates, bowls, and so many empty bottles. Both beer and firewhiskey, he realized instantly. There were clothes strewn about the floor. Astoria's room was a mess. "Astoria," he said slowly. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine," she said easily. "That drink?"
"No," Draco replied, biting his cheek. "I'm not drinking right now."
Astoria scoffed. "Really?" she asked.
"Really," he replied, nodding.
She finished her beer and then pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. "Where's the missus then?" she asked, pouring herself a large glass.
Draco felt his fingers twitch. He wanted a glass of firewhiskey. "She's in Australia," he answered simply.
"Ah, so that's why you've come to see me," she replied with a brittle laugh.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What?" he asked.
"She's gone, so now you have time for me," Astoria replied coldly, gulping at her drink.
"You're angry at me?" Draco asked, bewildered.
She took another furious gulp and slammed her glass down on the counter. "I barely see you since you've started seeing her. It's Hermione this and Hermione that. We're supposed to be friends, Draco, but you rub your relationship in my face every chance you get."
Draco closed his eyes and exhaled deeply before he spoke again. "You invited us here, Astoria. I'm sorry if you feel like I'm rubbing my relationship in your face—that has never been my intention. You're my friend, and I have always wanted you and Hermione to be friends. As for barely seeing me? Astoria, you disappeared for weeks. I owled you—several times. And I know you received my letters, do not take me for a fucking fool. I know you lied to me. So it is not my fault you haven't seen me," he replied with icy calmness.
Astoria paled and reached for her glass once more. "You used to be fun, before her. Now you're not drinking?"
"I don't have to drink to have fun," he countered. "As I remember, the last time I drank with you we all had a very bad time," Draco sneered.
Astoria paled even further. "Meaning?" she asked haughtily.
"You puked all over my girlfriend's shoes," Draco replied coldly. "And she stayed with you. She came home exhausted."
"She didn't have to stay," Astoria replied icily. "I am not her responsibility."
"Everyone is her responsibility, Astoria. At least in her mind."
"So, what?" Astoria asked. "She doesn't want you drinking now?"
Draco looked away from Astoria, but he did not answer.
Astoria whistled lowly. "Even in Australia, she has you collared, doesn't she?"
Draco's head snapped up, his eyes focused on Astoria. "Fuck you, Astoria," he said coldly. "I have someone who cares about me—who worries about me. I was worried about you. But fuck you. You have no one else, remember?"
Astoria flinched. "Get out," she said, her voice deadly.
"With pleasure," Draco replied breezily, turning to leave. "Drink yourself into a stupor for all I care."
"When she leaves you, Draco, you'll be the same pathetic excuse for a wizard that you've always been," Astoria jeered, following him.
Draco stilled and turned to face her once more. "Probably," he replied, nodding. "But at least I'll have known what it's like not be."
Astoria went as white as a sheet. "GET OUT!" she screamed.
Draco turned on his heel and left.
When he returned to the flat, he found Hermione's disembodied head in the Floo. Crookshanks was meowing to her insistently, and Hermione was nodding. At the sound of apparition, her eyes darted up, and she smiled. Even from far away, he could tell she had been crying. He rushed towards her. "Hi," he said softly. "How long have you been waiting?"
"Hi," Hermione replied. "Not long—15 minutes, maybe."
"Are you okay?" he asked instantly.
Immediately, Hermione burst into tears. "They got a dog," she sobbed.
Draco wanted to reach for her. He wanted to hold her—he had to comfort her. Could he apparate to Australia? No—too far away. The Floo? No, of course not! He didn't even know where she was staying. Fuck, he cursed internally. His fingers trembled. "But they're okay?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.
Hermione nodded, an armless hand reaching up to wipe the tears from her face. "Yeah, they're okay," she said quietly. "I'm happy for them. I just—I just wish—" she cut herself.
"What?" Draco asked.
"I wish it was you and not Ginny. She's asleep and I'm here alone, and—I hide it from her. I'm okay. It's fine. But I can be sad with you—I can cry with you. I can't—with anyone else," Hermione said. "And I want to cry," she choked out.
Draco sighed. "Tell me what to do, Hermione. Tell me what I can do to make it better."
"I want to come home," Hermione sobbed. "I want you." Her breathing became erratic as she sucked in great gulping breaths.
Draco stared at her face, tear-stained even through the Floo. He had never seen her so unwound. "Hermione," he said gently. "I need you to breathe for me."
Hermione nodded and took several deep breaths, steadying herself. "I want to come home," she repeated, quieter this time.
"What time is it there, Hermione?" Draco asked.
She sniffled and looked away from the fireplace, presumably at a clock. "5 a.m.," she finally said quietly.
"Sunday?" he asked, still not entirely sure of the time difference.
Hermione nodded minutely. "Yes."
Draco gave her a small smile. "You'll be back with me soon, Hermione. Now, if you really want to come home right now, I'll storm the Ministry to get your Portkey modified. But you don't have too much longer," he said gently, his fingers still trembling with the want to touch her. "Tell me what to do, Hermione."
Hermione wiped at her face once more. "What time is it there?" she asked quietly. "Can you send a message to Harry with your Patronus?"
Draco nodded. "Yes. Just tell me how to do it and I'll send one to him right now."
"Just cast your Patronus as you normally would, then say Expecto Loquere and just tell it your message and the recipient," Hermione replied, her voice shaky.
Draco casted his Patronus, the bright white peacock blooming forward instantly. "Expecto Loquere," he continued hesitantly. The peacock tilted his head and stared at him expectantly. "Err, find Harry Potter. Tell him to come to Hermione's flat—it's urgent." The peacock seemed pleased with the message. He nipped lightly at the feathers on his right wing—preening a bit, Draco supposed—and disappeared in a flash.
"Thank you," Hermione said quietly. "I know I'm being a bit dramatic." Her eyes would not meet his.
Draco simply shrugged. "You want to come home, and I'm going to get you home."
Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. "Your other girlfriend?" Hermione asked in an attempt to make a joke.
"No," he replied. "Maybe it's Pottter. Hang on," he said, rising to open the door.
On the other side, he found a bewildered Potter and his Patronus. "For the record, Malfoy, while it is rather impressive, I am not a fan of your Patronus. Stupid thing gave me your message then apparated me here. It's bizarre, really," Potter said, pushing himself inside as the peacock vanished. "You said it was urgent—is everything all right?"
"Hi, Harry," Hermione said from her place in the Floo.
"Hermione?" Potter asked, pushing his glasses further up his nose and squinting as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Potter," Draco said, "however you got that Portkey—I'm going to need you to get it modified. Hermione is coming home."
Potter blinked at him in disbelief. "What?" he asked slowly.
"I need you to get the Portkey modified so Hermione can come home," Draco repeated unhelpfully.
Potter did not speak for a full minute. He pushed his glasses up to his forehead and rubbed his brow in utter frustration. "Why?" he finally asked.
Hermione began to speak from the fireplace, but Draco interrupted. "It doesn't matter, does it?" Draco asked coldly. "She wants to come home and I need you to make it happen."
Ignoring him, Potter took a step towards the fireplace. "Hermione? Are you okay? Where's Gin?"
"Harry, I'm fine," she replied, looking away from him. "I just want to be home with Draco. Gin's sleeping—she's fine, too."
Potter sighed deeply. "I'll pay a visit to Kingsley—see what I can do," he said tiredly. "You guys are exhausting.
"Harry, I'm sorry," Hermione said quietly. "I just—it's just not good this time."
The other man nodded before turning towards Draco. "Give me an hour."