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"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."
~C.S Lewis
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To Draco's greatest relief, Hermione didn't mention the Witch Weekly story even once. Draco didn't even know if she knew about it, but if she didn't, it was all the better. 

Mr. Blak graded their essay with an 'Outstanding', saying that all the points were immaculately noted. 

As the week passed, Hermione grew glum. Draco didn't really notice at first - because he didn't spend too much time looking at her in the first place - but then it became sort of obvious that she wasn't feeling great. She would keep sniffling while they worked. She stopped going out for lunch and just stayed in the shop, pointlessly cleaning or arranging jars. She denied Draco when he shoved a wrapped sandwich under her nose. 

On Thursday, Hermione came in with puffy, red eyes and blotchy cheeks. 

Draco ignored her. The rustle of an apron reached his ears, and he glanced back. She did that godforsaken thing to her hair again, so that the back of her neck was exposed. 

They began working for the day, and Draco tried to ignore her obnoxious sniffles and the frequent movements she made to wipe her eyes.

Draco was brewing Pepper-Up potion for St Mungo's. It wasn't hard, but it did require a lot of patience. Draco's fingers drummed rhythmically against the wood of the desk as he waited for the potion to turn from yellow to a clear white. 

Hermione sniffled. 

Draco's eyebrow twitched. The potion was supposed to be cleared of colour by now, but it was still a yolky yellow. 

Another sniffle. 

Pushing away his building annoyance at both Hermione and the potion, he released a slow breath through his nose. 

She sniffled again.

"What the bloody hell is the problem?" Draco slammed his stirrer down and whirled around to face her. 

"What?" She asked. She was actually crying, and Draco felt a pang of guilt. 

"You've been making that godawful noise," Draco said, trying to be less harsh, "If there's a problem, find a bloody solution."

Draco waited for her to say something, but she only looked blankly at the wall in front of her. 

"Granger?" Draco waved a hand I'm front of her face, "Really, you look like a corpse. It's scary to see your face every morning, if I'm being honest. When was the last time you ate?"

Hermione's mouth twisted to form a sneer, "Why do you care?" 

There was such an amount of acidity in her voice, that Draco was taken aback. Her usually kind features hardened. 

He quickly regained his composure and cleared his throat, "I don't. But it's hardly nice to see you going around like this. It's me who has to see your face, not you."

"Why must you always be so horrid?" She asked, balling her fists and scrunching her eyebrows, her voice raising by a notch, "Would it hurt to think about others for once?"

Draco decided not to take those words seriously, because, to be fair, she had no idea about the things he did. He held his hands up, "I just need you to stop making that noise."

"Of course," Hermione said bitterly, turning back to her work, "How could I even expect anyone such as you to even think about trying to ask someone if they're okay?"

Draco raised a brow, but said nothing and glanced at his cauldron. It was finally a clear, milky white, "So, there is a problem?"

"NO!" Hermione answered in a raised voice, which caused Mr. Blak to cough loudly from the front.

She stopped sniffling after that, but took to throwing Draco scathing, murderous glances over her shoulders. Draco didn't know if it was an improvement or not. 

By the time the day gave out, it was raining again. Draco wrapped the black scarf around his neck and slung the bag over his shoulders. 

He was just about to leave when he realised that Hermione wasn't inside. First he thought that she had already left. But no, she always wished Mr. Blak good night, and Draco hadn't heard that yet. 

Feeling like he was crossing an age-old boundary line, Draco pushed open the back door. His sense of hearing was immediately overcome by the gush and roar and patter of the raindrops, and he shielded his eyes, trying to make out whether the blurry outlines he could see were trees or Hermione standing in strange positions. 

"Granger?" He called in what he thought to be a loud enough voice. 

He was about to take a step forwards, but his foot met with something just on the threshold. 

Looking down, he found Hermione huddled in the corner, with her bare feet in the mucky mud and her head bowed. She seemed to not realise that Draco was behind her. 

"You're being like those pathetic girls who say they're in love!" Draco shouted over the rain, bending a little.

No answer.

Draco tried again, this time cupping his palms around his mouth theatrically, "Did Weasley finally dump you for someone else?"

Only then did she seem to come to her senses. She looked up. Her face was streaked with either raindrops or tears. 

Her red eyes hinted that they were tears. 

"Have you been...uh…" Draco felt distinctly uncomfortable, because comforting anyone other than his specific group of four friends was unexplored territory for him. Open kindness had never been his thing. He preferred being clandestine. 

"No," she said, swiping at her eyes.

"Sure," Draco huffed, "Come on, my conscience isn't allowing me to leave you here to die of pneumonia. You can go see Weasley and confess your undying love for him."

"How kind of you," she said, swiping at her eyes again.

"No, really," Draco said, trying to lighten the situation, "And if you die I'll be stuck with all the work, and then I'll be stuck with some stupid person who thinks they're good at Potioneering."

"Aren't you two leaving?" Mr. Blak bellowed from the front, but his voice sounded distant. 

"In a minute!" Draco shouted back, then turned irritatedly to Hermione's huddled form, "If you're expecting me to carry you home, you're sadly misinformed."

She made no answer. 

"Are you even listening to me?" Draco asked, beginning to regret his choice of checking on her.  

Still, she only looked at the downpour.

"Oh, for the love of-" Draco stalked inside and grabbed Hermione's bag. Placing a hand firmly on her shoulder, he apparated. 

Since he had already broken through her wards once before, they didn't resist him this time. 

"Let go of me!" Hermione yanked her arm away with a furious expression on her face, "Who gave you the right to do that?"

"I am self entitled," Draco shot back, and scanned the apartment. There were half eaten and empty boxes of food, scrunched up parchment and tissues, several cups of coffee that had long since gone cold, and an ink stain on the table. The whole place smelt of stale Chinese takeout.

"What did you even do here?" Draco waved his wand, clearing the ink. The coffee cups moved to the sink, and the empty boxes of food vanished, "I haven't seen anything so unhygienic in my entire life except the fourth floor toilets at Hogwarts, and that's saying a lot."

"Why are you even here?" Hermione was shouting. She seemed to have come back to her senses, because she had cleaned her muddy feet and dried herself. 

"Because I was stupid enough to check on you," Draco answered heatedly. Crookshanks had come over to sit on his feet, so that now he was rendered sedentary. 

"Leave, then!" Hermione waved her arms wildly through the air, looking a mess, "Why are you still here?"

Her chest heaved when she stopped moving by the window with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and her eyes brimming with tears again. 

Just as suddenly as it had come, he saw the fight leave her. Draco stood silently when she thumped onto the window seat. 

Draco carefully moved his feet out from under Crookshanks and walked over to her. 

"Look," Hermione said resignedly, "I'm tired, and cold, and really not in the mood to handle your bullshit. So you should leave."

Draco pursed his lips and ignored her words. 

"I know we aren't friends," Draco began, swallowing his pride and shutting away his snappy attitude, "But we are coworkers...so….you can…"

"Accio," a piece of parchment from the table flew into her hands. Without looking up at him, she held the letter up. 

Draco took it cautiously. 

Miss Hermione Granger,

It is our greatest regret to inform you that Mr. and Mrs. Granger, more recently Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins, have passed on at a road accident in Canberra, Australia. 

The Magical Society of Australia requests your presence at the Headquarters on the Sixteenth of September, so as to go over the documents of their former residence in England and other such matters. 

With our heartfelt condolences,

Troy Featherwort.

President of the Magical Society, Australia.

Draco lowered the letter with a frown creasing his forehead. Hermione was crying again while trying to distract herself with the traffic in the street below. 

Draco didn't know what to do, how to help, or if he should call anyone. 

"Is…" he sighed, feeling guilty at having taken the whole thing so lightly before. Merlin, he had made a joke out of this. He forced himself to go on, "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head vehemently. 

It had been long assumed by him that any softness in his heart had shrivelled up long ago, but at that moment, he could not bring himself to turn around and leave. 

Thinking it as the only suitable thing to do, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He held it out to her. 

She looked at it curiously for a while, then took it with a murmured thank you.

"I'm sorry about your parents," Draco said. 

She broke down. 

He awkwardly patted her shoulder as she cried, feeling unsure of himself. Was he patting too hard? He ought to do something else, didn't he? 

Hermione spoke as she cried, and told him about how she had Obliviated her parents before she had gone on the run, how the Healers had failed to restore their memory, and how she could do nothing for them from afar except send them anonymous presents every on Christmas. 

In the end, Hermione sat with her feet crossed and her back hunched into herself. Draco's hand was still on her shoulder. 

"I shouldn't have dumped all this on you," she said after a little silence, "You can't possibly be bothered by it…"

"I might say I'm stone hearted, but it's not exactly true," Draco said as gently as he could, "Where are Potter and the Weasleys?"

"Harry and Ron are away for auror training," Hermione said morosely, "Ginny's gone on the Quidditch tour."

"Why didn't you write to them?" Draco asked, taking the soaked handkerchief from her hands. 

"Ginny just sends back my letters every time I write to her," Hermione said, wiping her runny nose on the back of her sweater sleeve. Draco handed the handkerchief back to her. She went on, "Harry has his own problems, and Ron…I just didn't want to…"

She trailed off and placed her chin on her knee. 

Draco bit down on his tongue, holding back a jibe at her stupidity. As if real friends would ignore her at such a time…

Well, he was with her, but they weren't exactly friends. Or maybe they were. 

"Do you want me to go with you?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He supposed that he did owe her for all the times she had tried to uplift his spirits and for being a major factor for the engagement being broken…

She leapt up from her place and wrapped her arms around his neck, which was much more of a thanks than any words could express.