It was on the ferry ride back that Draco broke completely. He managed to remain stoic as he turned his back on Lucius for the final time. He remained collected as he strode back across the island, Hermione's dragon Patronus leading the way. He remained calm as he collected Hermione into his arms and pulled her up onto the ferry. It was when Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and refused to let him go that he broke with a long, low sob against her shoulder. A pathetic sound, more akin to something that was wrenched from a dying animal than a man.
He didn't care how pathetic he sounded. It was Hermione; she was his and he was hers, and she was home. Fat tears slid from his eyes and down his cheeks, wetting her hair and his coat. "I'm sorry," he gasped against her. "I'm so sorry—"
Hermione stood calmly, stroking his back. "It's okay, Draco. It's okay. I'm all right."
"He shouldn't—" Draco shivered violently, cutting himself off. "I shouldn't have let him talk to you like that," he said, his teeth chattering, whether it be from nerves or tension or the cold, he was not quite sure.
"I'm okay, Draco. It doesn't bother me," she said before pulling out her wand and casting a warming charm over them. "I don't know why I didn't think of that before."
Draco laughed through a sob. "You tried to wear pajama pants here, Hermione. I'm not surprised that either of us forgot about warming charms."
She chuckled lightly, not relinquishing her hold on him despite the warming charm.
Draco pulled himself away from her, rubbing furiously at his eyes. Hermione pulled him back. "Cry if you want to cry, remember?" she said quietly.
He nodded. "I think I'll be doing a lot of that when we get home. But for now—"
"Okay," Hermione said softly, wrapping her arms around his midsection.
Draco pulled himself together just enough to thank the captain of the ferry for the last time before lowering Hermione down on to the dock. As he descended himself, he was met with the sight of Potter standing at the end of the dock, his mouth set in a grim line, Crookshanks sitting at his heels. Draco sighed.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, her brows furrowed. "Why are you—?" Her gaze shot to Crookshanks and immediately narrowed. "Crooks," she greeted darkly, accusingly.
"I tried to come by your flat," Potter began, then gestured to the cat. "I don't know anymore, Hermione. Did you know your cat could apparate?"
"I'd always suspected," Hermione replied in an exhausted tone. "What is it, Harry?"
"What's going on?" Potter asked, nodding his head towards the ferry. "Azkaban? During the week? I needed some things from the shop, and I got worried when I went by and no one was there, so I tried to go to your flat—" Potter trailed off as he glanced from Hermione to Draco, taking in his undoubtedly bedraggled appearance.
Hermione sighed tiredly, twining their fingers together. "Let me just take Draco home and I can meet you at the shop, okay?" she supplied, avoiding Potter's question completely.
"Hermione," Draco interrupted. "It's fine. I can get home on my own. Just—just go with Potter. He met her eyes, and they were fierce and bright despite her exhaustion and which told him very clearly would rather not leave him alone at this moment. She swallowed, her gaze never leaving Draco's face, and he nodded at her, encouragingly. "Go, Hermione. I'll be okay for a little bit."
Infinitesimally, Hermione nodded back even as her hold on him tightened.
"'Mione?" Potter spoke, a clear question in his voice.
"Just a moment, Harry," she replied, a hint of irritation in the undercurrent of her voice. "You're sure?"
Draco did not reply, simply pressing a kiss to her forehead and dropping her hand, pushing her towards Potter, who remained standing awkwardly on the dock with a bored-looking Crookshanks. Draco beckoned for the cat, who trotted towards him dutifully. Bending down, Draco pulled the massive orange cat into his arms. Crookshanks settled into his arms, purring happily. "I'll just head on home with this guy. Fancy a bit of Kneazle apparition, Crooks?" he asked the cat, forcing himself to sound flippant.
Across the dock, Hermione bit her lip nervously, and Potter was watching her with a strange look on his face.
Before Hermione had the wherewithal to change her mind, Draco felt the familiar tell-tale tugging behind his navel, and he was twirling away from her. As it was, Kneazle apparition was very similar to wizarding apparition—the only difference that Draco could note was that it was far gentler. Until he ended up on his hands and knees in the kitchen, that is. "Fuck," he swore lowly.
Crookshanks eyed him with an amused look, and Draco could've sworn the damnable cat was laughing at him.
As he stood from the ground, Draco's eyes immediately came to rest on the bottle of firewhiskey and the two tumblers that had been left sitting out. Draco gulped, and suddenly his mouth was watering very badly, and he could nearly taste the liquid on his tongue. He closed his eyes briefly and sucked in a large breath. No. Hermione would be home soon and he was all right. He was not anxious. He was fine—
Your mother is dead
He forced the breath out. He sucked in another. In, and out. In, and out.
When he opened his eyes again, his resolve was a bit stronger. He picked the bottle of Ogden's up by its neck and placed it back in the cupboard, closing the door on it soundly, before placing the tumblers in the sink and filling them with water from the tap. With the firewhiskey safely hidden away, Draco instantly felt what little of the resolve he had left fade away and disintegrate at his feet.
He couldn't. Not anymore. Not anymore of this. The sadness, the emptiness that welled up inside of him. There was too much of it, and if he remained conscious and on his feet for another moment it would certainly swallow him whole—swallow him alive.
As soon as he reached the bedroom, he discarded his clothes and climbed into bed, pulling the green comforter up over his head, burrowing down into the bed, content to hide himself away from the rest of the world in the middle of he and Hermione's bed, his chin just resting on the edge of her pillow.
The silence was too much for Draco, and as soon he closed his eyes, he was utterly consumed by his thoughts. His mother, drooling and staring vacantly at the wall. His mother, but not his mother at all, not really, as she once again failed to recognize her very own son. Narcissa, rambling on and on about The Peacock and The Dragon and The Forest.
She's dead. Dead. You let her die.
Draco flinched and pulled the covers up higher, like a child hiding from the monsters under the bed. Shut up, he screamed back at the voice inside of his head. Shut up. He closed his eyes tighter, hoping that he could cause sleep to come for him by sheer will alone.
He was truly pathetic, he realized. Completely and utterly pathetic. With this thought, buried under the covers, Draco began to cry again. His mother was dead, and he was a pathetic excuse of a man.
Draco ached for Hermione desperately, and it had only been a few minutes. Pathetic, he chastised himself. He could have asked her to stay, to come with him, Potter be damned, and she would have stayed with him.
Oh, how he wished she had stayed with him.
He was pathetic.
Draco wept steadily under the covers, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to sooth himself. It helped only minutely. He wished they were Hermione's arms.
He could do this—with her.
He never heard the crack of apparition, and he gasped in surprise as the covers were pulled back from him. Draco sat up quickly, and was immediately met with Hermione's worn expression, her eyes filled with concern. "What are you doing?" she asked quietly.
"Hiding," he answered truthfully, his voice cracking as he said it.
Hermione sighed as her eyes traveled over his naked body. Taking in his state, Hermione quickly pulled off her own clothes until she was standing at the edge of the bed, completely nude. "Can I hide with you?" she asked softly.
Draco nodded, feeling his bottom lip tremble as he did so.
She gave him a sad smile before sliding into bed next to him, pulling the comforter back over their heads. In the next instant, her arms were wrapped tightly around him, holding him to her chest. "This is cozy," she remarked, her breath tousling his hair.
Draco did not reply, focusing on the comfort and warmth of her body. She began to stroke absently at his hair, and he closed his eyes, burrowing into her chest. Eventually, Draco spoke as her ministrations became slower. "Go to sleep, Hermione. You're exhausted."
"You first," she replied, gently pulling at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, forcing his head back. "You're sad."
"Yes," he agreed quietly, nodding against her breasts.
She sighed again, her ribs expanding against his chin. "I cried for a month," she began. "After I Obliviated them."
Draco looked up at her, even though he could barely see her in the dark of their surrounding sheets.
"Harry and Ron never knew. Not until—not until after. I hid it from them. I cried in silence, or I threw myself into tasks where I could be alone so I could just sob. And I sobbed a lot."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his fingertips finding her cheek.
Draco felt her shake her head against the mattress. "No, don't—I." Another sigh. "I'd just—I'd never felt so alone before. And I just—you're not alone, Draco, okay?"
"I know," Draco replied quietly. "I know that more than I know anything else. You are the only thing that makes sense to me right now, Hermione." He choked back a sob.
"I love you, Draco. I love you more than anything," Hermione admitted softly, her fingers still running through his hair.
"One day you're going to pull my hair out," he said, the first thought that popped into his head. The remnants of a petulant, vain little boy.
Hermione laughed—a full-bodied laugh that jostled his head against her breasts. "Mmm. Maybe when you're an old man, Draco Malfoy. You've got an exceptional head of hair." Her fingertips found the ends of his hair and pulled, harder than necessary. "And I'll love you even when you're bald."
"I would look ridiculous bald," he replied against her chest, wrapping his own arms around her. Sleep was creeping into his bones.
Hermione smoothed his hair back against his forehead. "I think I would still find you excessively handsome."
"Hmm," he hummed, closing his eyes. "I like when you flatter me." He desperately wanted to sleep.
"Sleep, my love," she said quietly; seriously. "I'm here."
"Promise?" he asked, already drifting away.
"I promise."
Two days later, after a stint in bed divided between sleep, cuddling, and emotionally-charged sex, Hermione forced him from their bed. "We need her will, Draco. I can't do anything without it," she said softly.
Draco stood, his legs wavering slightly beneath him, and nodded at Hermione solemnly. "I know," he replied.
They dressed in silence before Hermione apparated them to the Manor, her fingers tightly entwined with his. It was a bleary, grey day, which very much matched Draco's mood. Despite the gloominess of the day, Draco squinted against the light, the consequence of spending far too many days inside and hiding away from the world, and subsequently, the sun. "It's bright," he commented dully.
Hermione merely nodded, her fingers twitching against his. She took a hesitant step towards the front entrance of the Manor before she paused and turned back towards him. "Is your father's office—is that—is it one of the rooms that will hurt me?" she asked in a girlish voice.
Draco pulled gently on her fingers until she was standing directly in front of him. "Hey," he said quietly, lowering his narrowed eyes to hers. "You know I'd never let anything happen to you."
Hermione nodded shortly, biting down thoughtfully on her lower lip. "I know," she said quietly.
He dropped Hermione's fingers and captured her face in his hands. "I will always keep you safe. Hermione," Draco vowed, planting a kiss on her lips.
Hermione's palms rose, gripping his wrists tightly. "I know," she replied more forcefully. "I just—your father's office. It's a bit scary."
Draco shrugged, pulling Hermione into his chest and dropping a kiss to her hair. "If it makes you feel any better, it's technically been my office for the past few years."
Against him, Hermione let out a breath. "That actually does make me feel better," she admitted, pulling away from him slightly. "Shall we?" she twined her fingers with his once more.
"Yes," Draco agreed, very much wishing he could simply pull Hermione back into his arms. He felt steadier with her there, wrapped around her, taking in the scent of her wild curls, feeling the warmth of her body against. Without her, he always felt so cold.
Determinedly, Hermione led him up the grand staircase leading to the ornate front door of the Manor where she paused and looked up to him expectantly. With a sigh, Draco pressed the tip of his wand to the door and it instantly swung open. He stepped through the doorway, Hermione in tow. Instantly, the coldness of the Manor swept through him. His eyes immediately adjusted to the darkness of the foyer, and Draco was struck once more with just how lonely his ancestral home had become. Without the attentions of Jinxy, Draco was certain that nearly every surface would be covered in a thick layer of dust.
Even Hermione seemed to sense the loneliness of the Manor, too. She stepped forward and wrapped a hand around his forearm. "It's so—empty," she whispered.
Draco nodded. "It feels different," he added. "Like it died, too."
Her fingers tightened around him. "It's creepier than it was last time."
Draco looked down at Hermione. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was set into a straight line. He instantly realized Hermione's expression as grim determination. She was frightened, but her Gryffindor bravery would never let her show it—she was steadfast and would remain so right until the very end.
Hermione Granger, who had fought in a war.
"Come on," he said, tugging her forward by the hold on his arm. "This shouldn't take too long, then we can get out of here."
Hermione nodded, her back ramrod straight and her wand held out in front of her.
She looked prepared for battle.
Draco led her through the halls of the Manor quickly, determined to keep his promise to his witch and get her out of the house as quickly as possible. The chill seemed to permeate the entire house, and Draco cast a wordless warming spell over them in order to keep Hermione from becoming too chilly. The corners of her lips quirked, and she squeezed his arm in thanks.
The office appeared to be the only room that was not icy, having been shut up for several months now. All of Draco's financial documents remained tucked safely in a desk back at the flat, having made their way there even before Draco's first set of spare clothes did. The office, in fact, was rather stuffy and appeared to be mostly uncleaned. Jinxy probably hated to clean this room—she was very fearful of Lucius—even the mere mention of his father's name had her eyes growing wide and afraid. He certainly couldn't fault the little elf. Draco hated this room, too.
He made his way to the desk and dropped down to his knees in front of it, Hermione's fingers trailing down from his forearm until they reached his fingertips once again. When he opened the bottom drawer, he furrowed his brows in confusion. There were several folders in the drawer, but sitting directly atop them was a ring—a very familiar ring. His mother's wedding ring. When had he last seen her wearing it? When had she taken it off? Why had she taken it off?
"Draco?" Hermione's timid voice interrupted his thoughts. "What's wrong?"
Draco shook himself, pocketing the ring quickly. "Nothing," he lied. He had questions of his own, but now was not the time. He tossed the folders haphazardly onto the floor and was met with the bottom of an empty drawer. Leaning further forward, his eyes scanned the entire length of the drawer, until he found a miniscule carving of the Malfoy family crest at the very back of the drawer. "I found the opening, I just need something sharp—" Draco said, mostly to himself.
"How about this?" Hermione asked.
It happened in an instant. Hermione dropped his hand and leaned against the broad expanse of the desk, reaching for something that Draco couldn't see—
"Hermione, wait—" Above him, Hermione let out a scream and then a howl of pain. Draco shot to his feet, drawer forgotten completely, and to Hermione's side. "Hermione? What happened?" he asked quickly.
Hermione was crying and shaking, staring down at where her hand was resting on the top of the desk.
No. Not resting. Not resting at all.
Pinned, by a letter opener, which had buried itself through the center of her hand. Blood was pouring from the wound, and Hermione had gone completely white, her gaze on her hand. Her shaking intensified. "Fuck!" Draco swore, reaching for his wand, unsure of what to do with it. "Hermione," he urged, as her shaking continued. "Look at me, Hermione."
Hermione continued to stare at her hand for several more seconds before she looked up at him. "Draco," she said, her voice trembling. "What—?"
"Fuck," he swore again, lifting his wand, his mind frantically searching for a spell—any spell—to fix this—to fix her, to get her to stop shaking, to get her to stop bleeding. Oh, gods, Hermione was bleeding. His witch was bleeding— "Expecto Patronum!" he cried, the peacock shooting from the tip of his wand. "Expecto Loquere. Find Harry Potter. Tell him we need him at Malfoy Manor—Hermione is hurt. Go! Go!"
The peacock shot off, not needing to be told twice.
Draco turned back to Hermione, who was now going a sickly shade of gray. He took her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. "You're all right. You're going to be all right. Potter's on his way."
"Feels like—I might—faint," she replied disjointedly, her eyes glassy.
"Fuck," he said again, pulling the desk chair closer to her. "Sit."
Hermione dropped into the chair weakly, her knees seemingly giving out on her. Draco kneeled back on the floor, taking her uninjured palm in his, rubbing it soothingly. "You're all right," he repeated.
She began to cry.
Fuck, he hated when she cried.
"Hermione—" he began desperately.
"Hermione!" shouted Potter, tearing through the room, peacock Patronus in tow. "Malfoy? What the fuck happened?"
"Letter opener—I don't know—I wasn't sure what to do—what kind of curse," Draco replied brokenly as Potter pushed him out of the way.
Hermione was crying openly now, whimpering in pain.
"It's okay, 'Mione," Potter said gently, inspecting her hand. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to get this letter opener out of the desk, then we'll take you to St. Mungo's."
"Don't hurt her, Potter," Draco said desperately.
Potter's head whipped around to look at him, his eyes narrowed. "She's already fucking hurt, Malfoy," he spat, immediately returning his attentions to Hermione. "Get the fuck over here," he continued, as if he hadn't been the one to push Draco out of the way in the first place. "Once I get the tip of the blade out of the desk, I need you to grab her so I can apparate us to St. Mungo's."
Potter lifted his wand, muttered a spell, and lifted Hermione's hand free. Hermione shrieked, and Draco lunged for her instantly. Pulling her up into his arms and holding her reverently against his chest. "I've got you," he whispered. "Potter is just going to apparate us. Hang onto me, okay?" Hermione weakly wrapped her good arm around his shoulders and burrowed her head into his neck, closing her eyes.
Roughly, Potter grabbed the crook of Draco's elbow and apparated them directly them into the bustling emergency room of St. Mungo's. Potter let go of Draco, stalking towards check-in, leaving Draco alone with a quietly sobbing Hermione. Draco had no more words—he simply held her tighter.
Within minutes, Potter had returned. "It will be a few moments," he said tightly, his jaw rolling with rage.
"It hurts," Hermione murmured lowly.
"I know, love," Draco replied quietly. "I know. We'll have you fixed in just a bit, okay?"
"Sit down before you drop her, or give her to me. You look like shit, Malfoy," Potter said harshly, motioning towards the waiting area.
Hermione held onto him tighter, and unwilling to let Hermione out of his arms, Draco obeyed and took a seat.
Potter's name was called within minutes. Draco narrowed his eyes. Potter rolled his. "I told them she was my sister. What? You want her to sit here in pain for longer?" he snapped.
Draco grumbled. No, of course he didn't want Hermione in pain for another second longer. He rose, gripping Hermione tightly and following Potter. They were led to a private room, and a smiling Healer's aid informed Draco that he could set Hermione down on the bed. He had no desire to do so, and her smile flickered worriedly as she closed the door behind her.
Potter sighed. "Set her down, Malfoy. No one is going to steal her from you."
Hesitantly, Draco took several steps towards the bed. Potter was right. No one was going to take her. She needed a Healer, and they couldn't help her if Draco refused to let her go. He gently lowered Hermione onto the bed. She tried to resist, but she was too weak. "Draco," she said desperately.
"I'm not going anywhere, Hermione," he soothed. "There's nothing they could do to make me leave you right now." Hermione nodded weakly, relinquishing her grip on him and allowing him to lower her into the bed. She curled in on herself, clutching her bleeding hand protectively to her chest. Draco perched himself on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair in an attempt at comfort. She whimpered again.
On the other side of the room, Potter let out an exasperated breath. "What the fuck, Malfoy?" he asked, voice shaking with anger.
"Harry, don't," begged Hermione quietly.
Potter continued to glare at Draco from across the room, but he did not speak again.
There was a soft knock at the door, and a young female Healer donned in lime green robes entered the room, a piece of parchment in hand, which she glanced down at. "I'm Healer Dorsch. Says here that we have an extremity injured by a cursed object?"
Potter nodded. "My sister," he replied instantly, gesturing towards where Hermione was lying on the bed. "Letter opener right through the hand."
"Oh, dear," tutted the Healer, heading towards the bed. "Can you hold it out for me, dear?" she asked Hermione.
Hermione held out her injured hand, trembling as she did so.
The Healer examined Hermione's hand for several minutes before casting several diagnostics. "Ah, just a nasty anti-theft curse. Once we remove the letter opener, she should be all right with some Skele-Gro, a pain potion and some blood replenishing potion. And a good night's rest."
"Should be all right?" Draco questioned. "How are you going to remove it?"
The Healer offered him a smile. "I'm going to give her a bit of Draught of Living Death and then we will perform a simple procedure to carefully extract the letter opener from her hand. I've personally performed this procedure many times, and I assure you, it is very safe. It should take no more than 3 hours."
"A procedure?" Draco echoed, his heart thrumming painfully in his chest.
"Very standard, sir," replied the Healer, looking at him a bit uncomfortably. "Sir, may I ask how this happened—?"
"No," Hermione interrupted coldly. "You may not. We'll do the procedure—as soon as possible, please. Now can someone please get me something for the pain!?" Her voice was tense.
The Healer rushed from the room, hopefully to retrieve a pain potion for Hermione.
Draco took her good hand in his, stroking her palm with his thumb. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
Hermione shook her head against the pillow, her eyes closed. "No. You heard her. Anti-theft jinx. I grabbed it."
He sighed. Draco was not going to argue with his witch when she had a fucking letter opener lodged through her hand. He squeezed her hand tighter before leaning back against her, allowing his head to rest against her hip. For a moment, he had forgotten that Potter was there entirely.
"My best friend is in a hospital bed with a goddamn knife through her hand, and still, you two manage to be gross," Potter interrupted, shaking his head.
"It's called intimacy, Harry," Hermione said. "I'm becoming concerned for your marriage." She giggled then, almost uncontrollably. She was delirious.
The Healer returned then, vial in hand, and Draco sat up. Hermione grabbed the vial and drank it greedily before sinking back against the pillows, her eyes closed. "When are we doing this?" she asked, much calmer now.
"Within the next hour, Ms. Potter."
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Ms. Granger," she corrected, and Draco grinned.
"Ms. Granger," the Healer amended before addressing both Draco and Potter. "I need to get her prepared for the procedure. You are both welcome to wait outside—"
"Like shit," Draco interrupted.
"Malfoy," Potter warned, grabbing Draco's arm.
Draco looked to Hermione, who had opened her eyes again. Her pupils were blown so wide from pain potion that they were nearly black. "I'll be okay," she said with a slow smile. "I love you."
Potter dragged him from Hermione's room and then down several hallways before grabbing the collar of Draco's shirt and slamming him against the wall. "What the fuck, Malfoy?" he asked, his eyes alight with rage. "You promised you would keep her safe in that godsdamned fucking house."
"Get off of me!" Draco cried, elbowing Potter in the ribs. "You fucking—"
"You said you would keep her safe, you fucking cockroach! And then I show up with that bloody fucking peacock of yours and she has a godsdamned letter opener through her hand!" Potter continued, ramming Draco into the wall once more.
"Don't touch me!" Draco shouted, casting a silent Ascendio which propelled Potter into the opposite wall.
"You piece of—"
"If you touch me again, Potter—"
"—I'll kill you, Malfoy, I swear on Merlin's beard—"
"Do it, Potter. Hermione will have your head on a spike."
Potter deflated then, seemingly exhausted. He rose from the tiled floor and leaned against the wall. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and let out a heavy exhale before calmly asking, "What happened?"
Draco let his out his own breath. "I needed to go the Manor to get some documents. They were—blood wards. I needed something sharp, and Hermione, well, you know—she dropped my hand, just for a second. She wasn't thinking. Before I could catch her, she had that fucking thing in her hand."
Potter looked up at him, studying him.
"If she hadn't dropped my hand," Draco continued, mostly to himself. "Fuck, she didn't even need to be with me."
"You really do look like shit, Malfoy. You're always dreadfully pointy and pale, but you're looking a bit ghostlike if I'm being honest. Creepy, really," Potter commented.
Draco did not reply.
Potter continued, asking slowly, "What did you need at Malfoy Manor that was protected by blood wards?"
Draco glanced at Potter for a moment before he spoke shortly, "My mother's will."
Potter stared at him. "Your mother—her will?" he asked dumbly.
Draco nodded, fixing his eyes on the floor.
"Fuck," Potter breathed. "So she's—?"
"Yes," Draco replied coldly, feeling himself slump against the wall. "If we're done here, I'd like to get back to Hermione."
"I'm sorry, Malfoy—"
"This display of emotion, while amusing, is not necessary, Potter," Draco said snidely.
"You really sink into that Malfoy persona, don't you?" Potter commented, clapping him on the shoulder and steering him back towards the direction of Hermione's room.
"Fuck off, Potter," he sneered.
Potter sighed. "It was an accident, Malfoy. She'll be okay."
"Yes," Draco agreed, his heart suddenly racing. He needed to be back with Hermione. What if she needed him? Draco began to walk faster.
"Slow down, mate. They're not going to let you see her anyways," Potter called, speeding up his own gate.
"I need to be close in case she needs me," Draco replied coldly.
"Malfoy—"
"Didn't I tell you to fuck off?"
"I listen about as well as your girlfriend does," Potter said wryly.
Draco stopped in his tracks. His mother was dead. Hermione was hurt. All of it was his fault. He broke, slumping against the wall. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "It was an accident, Potter, I swear. I'd never let her get hurt," he said desperately.
"Malfoy—"
"She's hurt and it's my fault," Draco continued between his tears. "I never should've let her go."
Potter's hand gripped Draco's shoulder. "Malfoy," he said firmly. "You have got to keep your shit together right now. You're no good to Hermione if you're having a panic attack."
Draco sucked in a few gulps of air, exhaling slowly, attempting to calm himself. He nodded. "I know. I know," he agreed.
"Come on, just a couple of deep breaths. We'll go back to Hermione's room, and we'll wait for her, yeah?" Potter continued.
Weakly, Draco nodded and allowed Potter to lead him back to the waiting area closest to Hermione's room. Draco settled himself into a chair, staring intently at Hermione's door. Within the hour, five Healers dressed in bright lime green robs had stepped through the door, closing it firmly behind them. Draco's fingers between to tingle and twitch against his thighs, and he wished desperately for a glass of firewhiskey.
"Need anything?" Potter after an hour had passed.
"Glass of firewhiskey," Draco answered automatically.
Potter blinked. Once. Twice. "I meant like a cup of coffee or something."
"I know what you meant, Potter," Draco replied in a tired tone.
The hours passed by slowly, and almost unbearably. By the time the first Healer left Hermione's room, Draco was a shaking, sweating mess, and none of Potter's platitudes could do anything to quell his anxiety. When the last Healer left Hermione's room, Draco's stomach was roiling with bile, and he was worried he'd be violently sick on the floor of St. Mungo's. Finally—finally—the first Healer approached them, smiling brightly. "Everything went well," she said, speaking directly to Potter and ignoring Draco completely. "She's waking now, and she's a bit out of it, but she's asking for a—Draco?"
Draco shot to his feet immediately, nausea forgotten. "That's me," he said hurriedly. "Can I see her?"
The Healer stared at him for a long moment, her expression becoming slightly strained. "Yes, please follow me," she said tightly.
Draco was at Hermione's door before the Healer had even finished her sentence.