Disclaimer: I own my ideas, nothing more.

CHAPTER ONE

Draco saw no one for two months. Eventually, he'd been informed, a Ministry case-worker would visit to evaluate his progress. Thus far, no one had come.

Slowly, very slowly, he regained his strength. A proper diet came first, though his stomach was unable to handle anything but the blandest of foods for some time, followed by a daily regimen of exercise, to build muscle. Week by week, the image in the mirror appeared less gaunt. Sunken cheeks filled out slightly, ribs weren't quite so visible, dark circles beneath his eyes lightened.

He also read every day. That, among so many other things, he had missed profusely during his time in Azkaban. Most days, he was able to finish an entire book, sometimes two. There was always another to be read, thanks to the Manor library - which remained thankfully intact. For that, at least, he was grateful.

His mother's condition was worsening. One morning, a few weeks past, Draco had awoken to find Narcissa standing in his doorway. Frowning, waving her hands wildly in the air, she demanded to know why Draco had set all the house-elves free.

"I can't take care of all this on my own!" she screamed. "Your father expects a well-kept house and I can't do it on my own! Why, Draco? Why would you do this to me?"

After ranting for several more minutes, she simply collapsed to the floor. Draco moved her to her suite and waited quietly for her to waken.

"Draco?" Narcissa lifted her head, wincing. "Is it dinner-time already? Oh, do turn the lights down, dear. They're hurting my eyes."

The house-elves had not been set free. They simply had no idea what to do in the wake of their mistress' burgeoning insanity, her often contradictory instructions confusing them far beyond their reasoning capacity. Eventually, Draco was forced to override his mother's authority. He assigned each house-elf, of which there was nearly a dozen, different duties. He also told them to humor, but never obey, Narcissa over him.

As Draco's body healed, so did the Manor. But changes were made. All curtains were discarded, all windows opened as often as possible. Draco couldn't stand the dark any more, not after existing in it solely for three years. Many nights he awoke, gasping, sheets twisted and sweaty around his body. On even more of those nights, he momentarily forgot where he was, and would cry out when Munny arrived, ready with a witchlight and glass of water. She would apologize and shed a few tears. Sometimes, though not often, Draco asked her to stay.

During the ninth week of his house-arrest, Draco received a letter from a Ministry owl.

To Mr. Draco Malfoy, it read in neatly scrawled handwriting. In approximately one half-hour, please be prepared to receive a visit from your newly assigned case-worker. If you are not prepared, your parole will be considered violated and you will be returned immediately to Azkaban. Have a pleasant day!

Signed,

Merrily Merryweather

Ministry of Magic

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Sub-Department of Criminal, Particularly-Former-Death-Eater, Observation

"Mother, perhaps you should retire to the sitting room for tea," Draco said, taking hold lightly of Narcissa's hand. She smiled up at him.

"Will you join me?" she asked, rising gracefully to her feet. Draco smiled back faintly and nodded.

"In a little while. I promise. I'll have Munny bring lemon-tarts as well."

As promised, there came a soft knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after the letter's delivery. Surprised they had not barged right in, Draco opened the door and found Hermione Granger standing on the other side.

"Draco," she greeted, flashing him a warm smile. "May I come in?"

Draco regarded his former schoolmate silently, but nodded her in nonetheless. Once they were both seated - in the dining, rather than sitting room - he finally spoke.

"I take it you're my case-worker," he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Hermione nodded. "I am. I'm here to make sure you're readjusting well. And, of course, to make sure all your needs are being seen to while you're on house-arrest. So, how are you?"

Draco had once been unable to keep a civil tongue in his head when faced with sheer stupidity. Now, he merely steepled his fingers and answered tonelessly.

"Never better."

Hermione blinked. "Um, well, good. Yes, good. Your health, has it been improving? I saw in your release examination that it was, well, rather poor."

Draco wondered how much of his medical history she had actually seen, as he raised an eyebrow.

"Despite no longer having access to Azkaban's pristine accommodations," he answered dryly, "I'm doing quite well."

The look that flitted across Hermione's face may have been annoyance, but Draco found he really didn't care.

"Alright," Hermione scribbled some notes down before looking back up. "How about hobbies? What do you do to keep yourself occupied?"

Draco crossed, and uncrossed, his legs. "I read. And I look after my mother. She's gone insane, you know."

Hermione's hand froze over her parchment. "W-what?"

Draco smiled humorlessly. "It's a joke, Granger. Haven't lost your sense of humor, have you?"

"Oh." Hermione frowned and scribbled some more. "Um, one more question then. For now, that is. How is your mental health? Do you experience nightmares, or flashbacks? Are you ever anxious, depressed, angry?"

Draco fidgeted, bristling inwardly at the utter intrusiveness of her questions. "My mental health," he replied flatly, "is superb. Is there anything else?"

Hermione hesitated, then shook her head, though clearly wanting to say something further. "That's all for now. I'll be back next week, same time. We'll - well, I'll see you then."

Very cordially, and very formally, Draco showed her out. She seemed flustered, he realized, watching how her hands jerked slightly as she put away her things. Had she expected a raving lunatic? Perhaps a teary-eyed apology for past transgressions? Or maybe, merely the sharp-tongued schoolboy she'd once slapped.

Draco offered a tight smile when Hermione waved. She Disapparated with a pop.

Letting his breath out slowly, allowing a margin of his neatly controlled persona to fall, he joined his mother in the sitting room. Narcissa frowned at him as he sat.

"Draco, there was a woman here just now," she said. Her voice sounded fairly odd. "She was looking for you. She…"

Draco took a careful sip of his tea. "Yes, Mother. She's just a friend. No need to worry." He bit into a lemon tart. Finding it much too sweet, he set it back down.

Her hand shaking noticeably, Narcissa brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I've seen her before?" she asked, nearly whispering.

Three years previous, when Potter, Granger, and Weasley were brought to the Manor. Granger had been tortured and, shortly afterward, they'd escaped. The Dark Lord had not been pleased.

"At school," Draco answered, taking another small sip. "She was… She's a very good student."

Narcissa suddenly laughed, a delicate and warm sound he'd heard little of in the past three months.

"Darling, I've just remembered!" She stood, smiling. "It's your birthday! Stay here. I have the grandest surprise waiting for you. I'll be right back!"

Draco set his teacup down with a clatter. Hot liquid sloshed over the edges, spilling over his hand and onto the oiled furniture beneath. He observed his red, blistering knuckles without interest, finding he didn't much care.

Selecting the proper wine for a meal was said to be a delicate and finessed gesture, and Harry Potter had long ago decided he was awful at it.

Hoping the bottle of sparkling pink wine went well with roast beef, he set a few final touches to the table. All the while he wondered, as he did every week, why Hermione had ever thought it a good idea to have Harry cook. Take-away and boxed dinners worked quite well the other six days of the week, after all.

A short while later, the Floo burned bright green and Hermione stepped out, brushing a few stray bits of ash off her shoulders.

Harry grinned and greeted her with a quick hug.

"So have you talked to Ron lately?" he asked a bit later, a few bites into their food.

Hermione was picking at a carrot with her fork. "What?" She looked up.

"Ron," Harry prompted. "Have you heard –"

"Oh! Oh, Ron, yes, he's good. Really good. He says the Americans are just loving the joke shop. It sounds like he and George are doing great. Wait, I did tell you it opened last week, right?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hermione, are you ever going to tell me what's on your mind? You've been distracted all night." He paused. "No, I take that back. You've been distracted for weeks."

"I don't know what you mean," she sniffed, taking a large sip of wine, grimacing slightly. "Harry, this is dreadful…"

"Hermione…"

"Harry." She looked at him firmly. "You know I can't discuss my cases with you. It's –"

"The Ministry," he interrupted. "Yes, I'm well aware. And I'm not trying to butt into their business." He speared a large chunk of beef and popped it in his mouth. "Just yours."

Hermione sighed. "Oh, alright." Arms crossed, she leaned forward slightly. "If you mention this to anyone…"

"Hermione, come on."

She sighed again. "I was assigned a new case, about a week ago," she began, speaking slowly. "They thought I would be well-qualified, given my past acquaintance. So I could tell what's different, I suppose. It's… well, it's Draco Malfoy, Harry."

Harry laid down his fork. Food suddenly didn't sound quite as appetizing.

Hermione continued. "Today was the first home-visit - which I made by myself." She gulped down another swallow of wine. "It was awful."

"What did they expect?" Harry said. "Making you go back to Malfoy Manor after what happened? And making Malfoy your client? Isn't there someone a bit more experienced to deal with his type?"

"His type?" Hermione frowned and Harry immediately snapped his mouth shut.

"What?" he asked, a bit sheepishly. "Hermione, I didn't mean…"

"Harry, I never said he was awful. And I seem to recall you testifying for Malfoy a few years back. Or have you forgotten?"

"Of course not," Harry snapped, looking away. "Some good it did."

Hermione huffed. "And some good you're doing now, Harry. At least back then you still cared."

Deeply burned by her remark, Harry scowled and stabbed haphazardly at his remaining dinner.

"Harry…" she said softly, a few moments later. "I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean that…"

"So what was wrong with Malfoy?"

Hermione grimaced. "Azkaban is supposed to be better now, isn't it? I mean, that's what all the reports say. More humane, better living conditions."

"In other words, the complete opposite of what Sirius lived in," Harry said darkly.

She nodded. "Basically, yes. But Malfoy… I'm not sure how to describe it. He was - it was like something was missing. Like whatever it was that made Malfoy, well, Malfoy, was missing."

Harry considered her, sorry he'd spoken so harshly a moment ago. He hadn't seen his friend this bothered in a long time.

"Hermione," he said, "he spent three years in prison. I'm sure it will be awhile before he's back to his charming self."

"No, that's not what I mean." She frowned, pinching her eyebrows together in thought. "He was… too normal. If that's possible. I mean, Harry, no one can go through three years of Azkaban and come out completely unscathed. It's just… Well, it's not just that either!" Hermione drank some more wine, and coughed. "There have been other things lately." She frowned at the table. "Things I'm not sure I'm supposed to have noticed."

Harry smiled slightly. "I thought Ron and I were the ones who always got in trouble."

Hermione looked up. "Malfoy told me his mother was insane, Harry. And then he told me he was joking."

'Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?'

"Why would he joke about that?" Harry asked softly, the image of Narcissa Malfoy bending over him, and then lying to Voldemort, still fresh in his mind.

"Well," Hermione said. "I'm not sure he was."

'It's for the best, Mr. Potter. The Malfoys have always been a bad lot - inbred, racist, lying scum they are. Don't you worry, now. They'll be well taken care of.'

"Hermione." Harry exhaled slowly. "Where are you going with all of this?"

She was silent, hesitation flickering across her features. "I don't think I should tell you yet," she said, finally. "Not because I don't trust you, obviously. But… I need to investigate more, is all. And maybe…"

"What?"

"Maybe next time I go to the Manor, you could come with me?"

Draco sometimes had nightmares about his own death. He'd been skinned alive, burned, drowned. His body parts had been removed, one by one, he'd been poisoned, he'd fallen off a broom. Sometimes, Harry Potter sliced open his chest and removed his still beating heart.

"I can tell the wrong sort for myself," he'd say, before bursting Draco's heart in his fist.

Voldemort also featured prominently, as was no surprise. Once, Draco died within his own brain, while the Dark Lord laughed and explained how a true Legilimens could kill you. Other times, Nagini wrapped her lithe body around his own, squeezing until his eyes popped out, until blood ran from every orifice and every bone cracked and turned to dust. Draco often wondered if he was going crazy.

The morning of Hermione Granger's second visit, Draco woke screaming, one fist wrapped tightly around Munny's fragile neck, the other twisted in his sheets.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" Disgusted, he dropped the elf to the ground, where she coughed and wheezed for several minutes. Draco shuddered and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Munny is sorry," she rasped. "Master Draco is crying out while he sleeps. Munny just wants to help…"

Draco closed his eyes. "If I ever touch you again, Munny, you must Disapparate immediately. Do you understand?"

Munny sniffled. "Why, sir?"

"Because I'll fucking kill you!" he yelled, throwing a candle in the elf's direction. Munny was gone before it landed.

The remainder of the morning passed in careful silence. Narcissa, complaining of a cold, retired to her room shortly after breakfast.

"I've been so sickly lately," she said. "It must have been one of the guests at the party last week. I really must be more careful about whom I invite over."

Left alone with his thoughts, Draco grew irritable and restless. Reading was an involved activity, but he didn't do well, nowadays, left in his own head for too long. Hermione's arrival, promptly at half past one, was therefore a welcome distraction.

"Granger," he greeted, showing her in. Hermione smiled politely and sat. Something to the left seemed to be drawing her attention.

"Tea?"

Hermione jumped slightly, snapping her head around. "Oh, no. Thank you." She cleared her throat. "How are you?"

After taking a fair amount of time to pour his own tea and sit, Draco answered. "No worse than last week." He casually crossed his arms and leaned back. "Is there something the matter?"

"What?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Nothing! Nothing at all. I'm fine." She mimicked his arm-crossing, laughing nervously. "Besides, I'm here to ask you questions."

It was quite possible that he'd imagined it, the sliver of white that seemed to blink at him from thin-air, but Draco had long ago learned to trust his instincts - and this was nothing new. He almost smiled. Some people never learned. And who could've asked for a better distraction?

"I'm not in the habit of following orders from Mudbloods," Draco said lightly, allowing a small sneer to form on his lips.

Hermione's mouth nearly dropped open. She was, apparently, quite taken aback by this sudden change in demeanor.

"Ex - excuse me?" she stammered. "What –"

"Oh, drop the act already, Granger," Draco continued. He narrowed his eyes a bit, for effect. "Did you really think we'd get along after all these years? Whose brilliant idea was it to send you here anyway? Sending a Mudblood to do a real witch's job."

"Stop it, Draco." Hermione's face was flushed deep-red in anger. "We're not children anymore, so quit acting like one. Do you really want me reporting this kind of behavior to the Ministry?"

He sneered. "Report away. I'm not the one who broke the rules."

Hermione froze. "What?"

"And speaking of children," Draco went on. "Whatever became of the Weasley clan? Surely that red-headed bitch has popped out another dozen or so by now. Replacing all the ones that died, I suppose."

"You fucking bastard!"

Draco nearly laughed as a heavy body slammed into him, knocking his chair over and pinning him to the ground. A fist connected with his nose and blood gushed over his face.

"Harry, stop!" Hermione cried.

"Yes, Harry. Stop," Draco mocked, kneeing upwards. A satisfyingly pain-filled grunt was confirmation he'd found his target. A moment later, the weight disappeared from Draco's chest and he sat up. Greeting him with a furious glare was Harry Potter.

"I told you he was alright, Hermione," Harry said heatedly. "He's still a complete git! You haven't changed at all, have you, Malfoy?"

Draco spat blood from his mouth. "Missed me, Potter?"

"Both of you, stop it right now!" Hermione, looking alarmed, began scrambling in her robes.

Harry scowled harder, clenching his fists. "Hardly! You know, I really thought spending two years with Voldemort was enough to change even the likes of you, Malfoy. But apparently, not even three fucking years in Azkaban could knock the bastard out of you!"

"Harry!" Hermione's wand was pointing at both of them.

"Maybe I've been waiting for you," Draco sneered. He swiped a hand across his face. "Want to give it a try?"

"Draco!"

Draco glanced up, then back at Harry. "And since when did the Mudblood start calling me by my first name? I thought that was only reserved for people she's fucking."

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, rising to his feet.

Moving more slowly, Draco stood as well. "I already told you, Potter," he said in a soft voice. "You're welcome to make me try."

"Immobilus!" Hermione cried, just as Harry lunged for him again. Frozen in midair, Harry looked possibly more furious than Draco had ever seen him.

"You shouldn't have stopped him," Draco said coolly, studying Harry's face. He wondered if Harry would've killed him. He turned to Hermione, whose mouth was set in a furious line. "Isn't that why you brought him here, after all?"

Several emotions flickered across Hermione's face. "Of course not!" she snapped. "You weren't even supposed to know he was here." She sent a pointed glance at Harry. "And you were never supposed to start fighting. Honestly, you are both acting ridiculous! Harry, I'm going to let you go now, but so help me, if you take one step toward Draco!"

The spell was lifted. Harry stumbled, barely catching himself on the back of a chair. "Didn't you hear him, Hermione?" He glared at Draco. "I'm not sure you and Draco are on a first-name basis anymore."

Draco smirked coldly and raised his eyebrows.

"Stop it!" Hermione demanded. Her eyes were wide and angry. "Just stop it! I asked you here to help, Harry, not punch him in the nose!" She stomped her foot. "We're leaving. Now."

"And you!" Whirling around, Hermione stabbed her wand in Draco's direction. "I expect a full, civil, discussion the next time I'm here!"

Draco watched them leave with a neutral expression. Hoping his mother hadn't heard any of that, he headed off to find an unstained shirt.

He hadn't felt so alive in a long time.

TBC