Misery loves Firewhiskey
It had been a week since Hermione had laid eyes on Draco Malfoy, a week since he promised to see her the next day for coffee, and a week since he vanished off the face of the earth.
Hermione had given him three days before she had Owled him but gotten no response, and as she paced around her living room, Rose on her hip sucking on a teething rattle, she glanced once again at the unopened owl post she had received not long ago from Theo.
She'd tried to tell herself it was nothing. People got busy. Things came up. But the gnawing anxiety in her stomach, the constant, distracting ache of unanswered questions, told a different story. She'd replayed their last conversation a thousand times in her head, searching for a hint, a clue, anything that could explain his sudden disappearance. He'd seemed genuinely interested, almost…eager. The spark in his usually cool grey eyes, the slight, almost hesitant smile – it had all felt real.
Hermione had already imagined a hundred scenarios, each one more ridiculous and improbable than the last: He’d been kidnapped by rogue Death Eaters. He’d been struck by a rogue Bludger and suffered amnesia. He’d suddenly remembered he was betrothed to some pureblood witch he’d never met.
She knew, logically, that the truth was likely far less dramatic. He was probably just…avoiding her. Perhaps he'd reconsidered, decided their tentative relationship was a mistake. Perhaps he'd simply found her company tedious, a brief distraction that had lost its appeal.
The thought stung more than she cared to admit.
Finally, with a deep breath, she picked up the letter. The seal, a simple, elegant ‘T’, was unbroken. She hesitated, then with a sharp tug, ripped it open. The parchment crackled in the sudden silence of the room.
The letter was short, almost painfully so.
Hermione,
I need your help with Draco. Find us at 313 Embassy Gardens. The doorman will let you up.
Theodore Nott.
Hermione, after quickly arranging for Ginny to pop over and watch Rose, Apparated to the address Theo had provided. It was in a quiet, exclusive Muggle neighbourhood. She arrived at the door, to be greeted by a Muggle doorman, who with a subtle nod sent her in the direction of the penthouse elevator. The door to his home swung open before she could knock, revealing Theo, his usually composed demeanour replaced with a harried, almost desperate expression.
“Thank Merlin you came,” he breathed, pulling her inside. “He’s been like this for days. He won’t talk to anyone, he’s just drinking.”
The apartment was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of firewhisky and something else, something metallic and faintly unsettling. A half-empty bottle of Ogden’s Finest lay on the marble countertop, its contents pooling over the surface. She took Draco for a bit of a neat freak, so she was certain that the current haphazard condition of his home wasn’t his usual standards.
“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be Theo,” she glanced around the room, finding Draco slumped in an armchair by the large, panoramic window. His back was too her, but at the sound of his voice, his head swivelled in her direction. He had a glass in his hand, half empty. His usually immaculate hair was dishevelled, falling across his forehead, his eyes red from crying and his grey eyes lacked their sparkle.
She was moving towards him before she even registered what she was doing, “Oh Draco.” She kneels beside him, taking his hand in hers. “What happened?” she asked Theo, who was standing at the edge of the kitchen, his own whiskey in a glass, “and for god sake Theo, do you really think drinking along with him is going to help.” She rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to Draco who had closed his eyes.
“Pansy happened,” said Theo, and Hermione looked at him quizzingly, “I don’t understand.” Theo sighed, setting his glass down on the counter before making his way over to them. “Pansy came to see him a few nights ago, and seeing her triggered his grief, for Astoria, for Scorpius.” Hermione looked again at Draco, her face full of concern, “Oh Draco.” Hermione knew that despite his bravado, the loss of his family had cut him deeper than everyone realised.
“Draco, do you think you could get into bed love?” she asks, pulling his face up so his eyes meet hers. They are red rimmed, unshed tears still lingering along his waterline, but the worst bit was the emptiness in his gaze.
"Hermione," Draco croaked, his voice thick and raw, "you shouldn't be here." He tried to pull his hand away, but she held firm. "I'm a mess."
"I'm here because you need me," she said softly, her thumb stroking the back of his hand. "And because you stood me up. I was worried."
His eyes flickered with a flicker of shame. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just...everything got so loud."
"I know," she said, her voice gentle. "Theo told me about Pansy visiting. It's alright to grieve, Draco. But you can't drown it in firewhisky."
He looked away, his gaze falling to the half-empty glass in his hand. "It's the only thing that quiets the voices." "They won't stay quiet forever," she countered, her voice firm but kind. "And they'll only get louder if you keep this up. Come on, let's get you to bed."
With Theo's help, they managed to get Draco to his bedroom, a stark, minimalist space that seemed as empty as he felt. He collapsed onto the bed, his face buried in the pillows. Hermione sat beside him, gently stroking his hair.
"Tell me about it," she whispered. "Tell me what's hurting you."
He hesitated, then began to speak, his words slurred and broken. He talked about Astoria, about her laughter and her strength, about the way she'd fought for him, for Scorpius. He talked about Scorpius, about his bright, inquisitive eyes and his infectious smile. He talked about the guilt that gnawed at him, the feeling that he'd failed them both.
Hermione listened, her heart aching for him. She didn't offer platitudes or try to minimise his pain. She simply listened, offering a quiet presence, a safe space for him to unravel.
As his words slowed, she gently pulled him up, and with some water and a cleaning charm, began to clean his face. "Draco," she began, "you need help. This isn't sustainable. You’re only hurting yourself.
"I know," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I...I don't know how to stop."
"We'll find a way," she promised, her voice filled with conviction. "We'll find someone who can help you process this; someone who can help you heal. A mind healer. Someone who can help you learn to cope."
He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and despair. "Do you think...do you think they can help?"
"I know they can," she said firmly. "But you have to want it, Draco. You have to be willing to try."
He nodded slowly. "I...I'll try. For Scorpius. For Astoria. For you."
“Good,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “And I’m going to hold you to that, beside you owe me a coffee.” She smirked and brushed his cheek with her fingers, “I was worried about you when I didn’t hear from you, thought you had changed your mind.”
"Never Hermione. I was a fool," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't let it happen again. I promise."
"Then let's start with getting some sleep," she said, gently tucking him under the covers. "We'll talk more in the morning."
She stayed with him until he drifted off to sleep, his breathing deep and even. As she left the room, she found Theo waiting for her, his expression a mixture of gratitude and concern.
"Thank you, Hermione," he said quietly. "I don't know what we would have done without you."
"He needs help, Theo," she said, her voice firm. "We need to find him a mind healer, someone who can help him work through this."
"I agree," Theo said, nodding. "I'll start making inquiries tomorrow. And Hermione, thank you for being here, for being his friend."
"He's my friend too, Theo," she said, her voice soft. "And I'm not going anywhere." Theo smiled at her, “I think perhaps he might be more than a friend?” he said coyly, and Hermione rolled her eyes, “One thing at a time Theo, right now he needs a friend and someone to help him.”
Theo handed her a hot cup of tea, and pointed in the direction of the sofa, “stay, we can look for one together.”
The morning dawned grey and heavy, mirroring the lingering tension in Draco’s penthouse. He stirred slowly, his head throbbing, a dull ache that pulsed with each heartbeat. He glanced around the groom, the events of the previous night flooding back in a rush. Hermione. The sheer amount of firewhisky he had downed trying to numb the pain.
Draco threw on a pair of black pyjama trousers and a cashmere grey jumper, making his way to the kitchen where he was surprised to find Hermione sitting at the counter holding a cup of tea. “Morning,” she said, her voice gentle. “How are you feeling?”
"Like I've been hit by a Bludger," he admitted, wincing as he sat down at the kitchen island.
She snorted, “that’ll be the firewhisky,” she said, placing a small bottle of pepper up in front of him. “Drink this, I brewed it fresh this morning for you.” He reached out, gratefully taking the bottle and downing it in one, feeling the immediate effects.”
“Theo’s made some inquiries about mind healers, so we have a few options for you.” She watched him while she sipped at her tea. “There’s a cup under statis just for you there too.”
He took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through him. "Options?"
"Yes," she said, her voice matter-of-fact. "We need to find someone that you’re comfortable with.”
They spent the morning reviewing the profiles of several mind healers, each with their own specialisations and approached. Draco found himself surprisingly receptive to the idea, especially as Hermione and Theo shared they both had monthly appointments with one themselves. A flicker of hope ignited with him, he had always felt too proud to consider a mind-healer. He landed on a woman named Eloise Vance, who was known for her gentle, empathetic approach and she was an expert in grief counselling.
Hermione sent an owl off to Eloise, who replied with an appointment for the following morning. Draco was more nervous than he anticipated feeling, he had never been one to openly discuss his feelings, let alone delve into the depths of his grief. The thought of exposing his vulnerabilities to a stranger was daunting.
Sensing his discomfort, Hermione reached over to squeeze his hand, "We're here with you Draco, I promise."