Fourteen Thousand Galleons

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He doesn't have enough tea. Coffee. Whiskey. Scotch. Water. Enough to stockpile for the apocalypse. But fucking hell, his collection of tea is severely lacking for someone who claims to be British. She's shaking on Draco's settee with a cup in hand and it's almost gone and he has no more fucking tea. Draco has his arm wrapped around her shoulder and he's soothing her with small, tight circles against her jumper. Harry, though, is crouched in front of her with his hands on her knees.

"Tell me again," Draco whispers and there's an edge to it that sounds like the blade of a knife about to strike. "What exactly did he say to you before leaving?"

Harry watches her try to swallow. Her lip trembles, hand shakes around the cup of tea. It's the first time she looks up from the cup of tea and her brown eyes are filled with anxiety when they meet Draco's eyes. Draco is tense, shoulders square and lips in a taut, thin line on his face. Harry wants to tell him to soften up, but he's afraid to speak. He's furious and so far he's been able to keep it buried. Opening his mouth will obliterate that.

"He said that his wife is fucking Draco Malfoy." She repeats the crass words with pinched lips that tug down into a frown. Hermione sighs and wipes at the corner of her eye. He didn't catch a tear there, but he's sure she wipes one away.

Draco has murder in his eyes. "He doesn't have a fucking wife."

Draco's gaze flickers to Harry again. There's a jolt in his heart when gray eyes finally meet his. Draco has so much more control than he does. He's restrained, biting back his wicked words by pressing his tongue against his cheek. He tries to express to Draco, without words, that he wants to find Ron. As an auror, officially, and drag him into the department for harassment. Draco doesn't give him any indication that he understands.

"It'll be okay, Hermione," Harry says instead, determined to be the gentler of the two. His fingers dig into the flesh of her legs, to bring her to the present, to let her know he's there. Her eyes dart to his and he tries to smile at her, to encourage her into relaxing. She doesn't. Instead she sucks in a shaky breath and sniffs. "Hermione, listen to me, love."

"You don't understand!" The words burst forth from her lips with such ferocity that Harry nearly falls back to the floor. "It's the first time I've ever, ever stood up for myself. It's the first time that I've ever felt strong enough to keep Ron from –"

His ears are filled with cotton. He knows what she's going to say and he can't prepare himself enough to hear it. He bites the inside of his lip to keep himself quiet. Draco's no longer rubbing her shoulder but trailing his long fingers up the side of her neck in lazy patterns.

" – hurting me." Hermione leans over and sets her tea cup on the table beside the settee and folds her hands in her lap. "I feel like such an idiot for letting it go so long."

Harry takes her hands and instead of crouching, he kneels between her legs. She's staring down at him, her head tilting to the side as Draco continues to slide his fingers across her skin, and his lips lift into an encouraging smile.

"This isn't the first time you've stood up to him," he reminds her softly. His thumbs caress her knuckles. "You've been through my memories, Hermione. You know what Ron's put you through. You've seen how oppressed you were when you were married to him."

She nods stiffly and drops her eyes to their hands. He's grateful when Draco's fingers gently lift her chin so that she's forced to look into his eyes again. He's so quiet, it's almost as if they've switched mindsets; from gentle to silent rage.

"He knocked you down so many times," Harry says harshly, hands tightening in hers. "You stood up to him and then he'd demolish you all over again."