Draco could feel the sea on his skin. He thought his skin must taste like salt, and his usually straight hair had a wave to it. He had only been at Shell Cottage for a few hours before he had needed a break from the overwhelmingly pastel interior and three overly energetic children. Bill Weasley was fine, for a Weasley, though a bit severe, and he remembered Fleur Delacour from school and was grateful once more that the Malfoys had cast an anti-veela curse on themselves centuries ago. The two little ones were loud, sure, but the seven-year-old girl had revealed herself as a demon of mischief within ten minutes of Draco's arrival when she found a way to open his case, find an exhaustive stack of notes on a new trade deal he had been negotiating with a witch's colony in Indonesia, and turn them into a flurry of paper butterflies that then crumbled into a pile of shreds on the floor. When he (justifiably, he thought) yelled at her, she burst into tears and screamed into the arms of her mother.

So Draco had begged pardon for a walk on the beach, going so far as to take off his shoes and roll up his trousers to keep the sand damage to a minimum. He was doing his level best to think about nothing. Not his mother and why she hadn't arrived yet, or his business and how to manage the multiple meetings he had scheduled for this week, or his crazy homicidal aunt. And he was absolutely not thinking about Granger, that he at least had practice at.

Draco was actively not thinking about Granger when the little girl whose pale hair rivaled his own, was running down the small hill that separated the house from the beach. "Mister Malfoy! Mister Malfoy!" He chuckled despite himself and began to trek up towards the girl.

"Yes? What is it?"

Victoire stopped, as though she had forgotten her message.

"Is my mother here?" Draco leaned down to her level. "Is Mrs. Malfoy here?"

The girl shook her head just once, her long hair whipping behind her back.

"Are you sure?"

One nod.

Draco took a deep breath, reminding himself to be patient with other people's children as much as he possible could. "Shall we go up to the house and make sure then?"

The girl frowned at his persistence in doubting her, but eventually shrugged her agreement. Draco was startled when she grabbed his hand with her miniature one and insisted that they walk in step. Draco could just imagine any of the Weasleys watching him take half-steps to keep up with the little girl. He rolled his eyes at the lack of dignity.

Sure enough, when they reached the house Ginny Weasley was standing with her hands on her hips and a smug look of amusement on her face. "Well this is just darling, Malfoy. I hope you don't mind if I took a few photos for the Prophet."

Draco gave her his best scowl, then looked at the little girl as she broke from his hand and ran inside with a nonsensical yell. "What is it, Weasley? And where is my mother, I thought you said she'd be placed here?"

Ginny's face fell.

Draco felt his heart slow. "What. Happened."

Later, Draco would remember the demeanor that took over the girl who used to follow around Harry Potter like a bashful shadow. In a second, she was a General. "Malfoy, she's fine. She's safe, we think. I just spoke to her."

"But."

She nodded once. "But. Bellatrix has found a way to, well, imprison her in her own home."

"She's at the Manor?"

"Yes. She's alone, and she's safe." Ginny squared her jaw and put a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to keep an eye on her, and we're going to get her out."

Draco nodded once, feeling suddenly childish and unable to think quickly.

"Malfoy." She brought his attention back to her. "Bellatrix had the chance to hurt her and she didn't. That's a good thing."

The chance. Draco felt his brain switch on. "She was there. There were ten minutes between when I left and when she planned to." Ginny just nodded, rubbing her lips together and letting him catch up. "What about Granger?"

Draco watched Ginny grow bemused and it took him another second to realize what he had said. Drawing the ice back to his gray eyes, Draco stiffened his body and tensed his chin. "If she's still playing that idiot Gryffindor card, she's putting the rest of us in danger. I won't have her be the reason my mother is any more vulnerable." He watched Ginny's brows draw back and knew he had recovered himself.

Ginny nodded. "She's my next stop." She turned to see Bill Weasley behind her.

Draco watched the siblings embrace each other sentimentally and he turned back towards the beach.

"Aunty Ginny says it's very scary." The little voice next to him shook him out of a fog without thoughts.

The stiffness in his spine kept him upright, and his eyes were stuck on the darkening sea, but he didn't pull away when the child's hand grabbed his.

Ginny hadn't slept since Harry had read out that list, which had also been in the middle of the night, which made it about two? No three. No. Ginny checked her watch uselessly. She didn't know how many days it had been, or many uninterrupted minutes she had gotten before being called to St. Mungo's. So when she dragged herself up to Hermione's office and found her friend in full work robes, acting as if nothing was any stranger than it had been last week, even wearing lipstick for god's sake, Ginny was considerably annoyed.

"Neville beat you to it."

Ginny hadn't even had the chance to knock on the open door's frame and Hermione hadn't even lifted her head before she tried to pass her off. Ginny watched her scratch away at one parchment while reading another and admired her friend. Hermione had been born to be a grown-up, she thought. Ginny still wished she was allowed to run around and play for half of the day, her brothers had kids or played with dragons for a living, even Harry still wore trainers to work. But as soon as Hermione had been given an office and a purpose, and the license to drink a glass of goblin wine if she liked, she had really come into her own. Ginny wasn't the only one who had noticed that Hermione walked taller and had control of her body now, channeling that frantic intelligent energy from childhood into action and poise. Ginny had watched plenty of men see the same thing.

Hermione finally looked up and waved her wand at the door to close it behind Ginny. "He already told me about Narcissa." Well, her shock and scare approach wouldn't work.

Ginny sighed deeply, hanging her head. "Hermione. You've got to…"

"I don't have to do anything, Gin. In fact, I'll be more helpful out here, where I can go to the library and research and help Narcissa."

Ginny tilted her head and squinted. "You call her Narcissa?" Her voice had grown higher; she had forgotten to be in General mode.

"She told me to once."

"You talked to her outside of this mess?" Ginny embraced the idea that they were just gossiping at this point. Maybe it would soften her up.

"Mhmm. A couple of times during the House Elf Labor Standards mess, she was quite helpful. She's actually very-"

"Lovely, isn't she?!" The women chorused, then laughed.

"I don't understand how she gave birth to Malfoy!" Ginny giggled.

Hermione shrugged. "He's not as bad as he used to be, at least."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You and Harry both, what is this world coming to?"

Hermione laughed again, and Ginny found her opening. "Although…seeing him, just now, on the beach with little Victoire?" Ginny put her hands on her heart and made a small sound of approval. "It was upsettingly adorable. All of that blonde." Ginny forced a giggle.

Hermione's face stayed confident and unaffected. "You put him with Bill, then?" Ginny nodded, giving up her façade of girlishness. "And Harry?"

Ginny frowned and crossed her arms over her, which made her remember how hard it was to stand on tired feet. "Wouldn't you like to know." Hermione's dark brown eyes were scary when she wanted them to be, and Ginny caved too soon, blaming her insomnia. "Seamus' farm."

Hermione nodded quietly, thoughtfully, and stood up to move around the desk and approach Ginny. The darker girl, shorter even in a pair of low heels, embraced Ginny, holding her in tightly. Ginny felt the dam of exhaustion and fear break inside of her as she hid her face in Hermione's chest, and she let a few tears fall. "You need sleep, Gin. Even Generals need sleep."

Ginny pulled her face away, shining wet tear stains ruining what would have been the kind of boyish, stoic plea that usually worked on Hermione. "I don't understand, Hermione. Is it just your pride?" Ginny felt the childish loss of a parent's hug when Hermione pulled her arms away and held them tight to her own body.

Hermione pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and Ginny watched the familiar sight of wheels turning in Hermione's brain. Hermione's eyes fell to the floor, then flew back up to meet Ginny's, and she saw a flicker of something brilliant in them. Her voice was quiet and thrilling when she spoke. "What if it is Ginny? Just my pride."

The grin that stretched across Ginny's face at a glacial pace could have been the ghost of Fred Weasley himself. She was thinking of every time Harry, Ron, or even she had done something just for their pride and Hermione had stood by them, defended them, or dug them out of the hole of trouble they would inevitably get themselves into. Well, she was owed one. "I think we can all understand that." Hermione's relieved grin was her reward.

"However." Ginny drew together the last grains of authority she had left in her and straightened out her back, broadening her shoulders. She took two cloth bags out of her pocket and held out one of them. "Just in case you change your mind. Here's a portkey, to Seamus'. It's set for 10pm." Hermione looked at her questioningly, as though she had been lying about her support. "I did it before I got here, I thought I'd be able to convince you. Just take it, for my sanity? And if you ever change your mind you can always…."

Hermione didn't let her finish. "use the coin, call the Burrow, I know, Gin." She took the cloth bag out of Ginny's hands and made a show out of putting it into her cloak pocket. "Thank you. Really." Ginny very nearly fell asleep in the second hug.

Harry had spent all afternoon filling out paperwork while a beautiful Irish day played out in front of his eyes. Seamus had come in for dinner sweaty from work outside, making Harry seethe with envy at the grass stains on his robes. Seamus' entire family lived on the spacious green hills that made up their property. Harry soon discovered that Mrs. Finnegan's shepherd's pie was even better than Mrs. Weasley's, though he would never tell a single redhead his new opinion. Seamus' muggle half-sister, Sara, looked eerily like him, from the scattered freckles to the out of control eyebrows and scattered faint scars, which made Harry wonder if she was as accident prone as her younger brother.

The four of them were at the table after a lengthy catholic grace Harry felt awkwardly bad at, digging into the very local meat when Ginny appeared into the kitchen with a CRACK. Startled, Harry nearly yelled at her in greeting. "Oi! What are you doing here?"

Seamus looked up at Harry's shout, confused. "Whardoyuhmean?" Seamus swallowed, looking behind him where she stood. "Oh, hey Ginny. She's staying here, mate."

"Did I forget to mention that, Potter?" Ginny's roguish smile actually made Harry forget to breathe for a second, and suddenly he was choking on a piece of bread. Sara slapped him on the back with a force that made Harry suspect she may be able to lift and toss him like a bale of hay.

"Sit down, dear. Have some supper, we've just begun." Mrs. Finnegan swished around her wand to conjure a plate with a heaping serving and set it at an empty space next to her.

"Thank you, Mrs. Finnegan, but I actually need to speak to Harry and Seamus about a few things." Seamus and Harry both went to stand, but a glare from the older witch made all three of them find their seat.

Ginny took a heavy breath the moment she sat and, with a look to the woman, performed a silent grace over her food before digging in. Mrs. Finnegan looked impressed and approving as Harry wondered how she had known to do so. He noticed that Ginny didn't carry a trunk behind her, only a large bag, and had shadowy circles under her eyes that reminded him of how she looked in her first year. "Everybody get to their place alright then?" Seamus asked, but Harry could sense the answer in Ginny's sagging posture.

Ginny shook her head, shooting both boys a glare.

After dinner, Seamus led both of them into what Harry assumed would be Ginny's bedroom. The uncomfortable looking twin bed had obviously been Sara's, though Harry suspected she hadn't exactly loved the pink quilts and frilly pillows. Ginny looked at the mattress with longing, but remained standing, while Seamus straddled a chair too small for a full-grown man and Harry found the edge of the bed.

She began with a sigh. "Well, first things first- Hermione still hasn't budged, but she's got a portkey linked here for later tonight so I'm holding out some hope." Harry nodded, solemn.

Seamus surprised them both with a smirk. "Stubborn lass, got to admire her a bit for that, you have."

Ginny matched him with another glare, but Harry caught a Weasley-like agreement in her eyes. "Well…she's done so against orders. Narcissa's been imprisoned in Malfoy Manor." The men looked at her with sudden alarm. "She's okay, she's safe as far as she's been able to communicate to me, but we'll still be trying to get her out, obviously." She looked at Harry and the pleading mixed into her authoritative expression worried him. "She's doing research on the wards, and so is Hermione, but we could use some Aurors posted around there if you've got them to spare."

Harry grimaced but nodded. "Azkaban has to stay our priority, if you do think she's safe, but yeah I've got a few."

"I'm alright with trainees if they have to be, I'm pretty sure Bellatrix would have hurt her already if she wanted to. I think this is just her flexing her muscle a bit, showing us she's out there and she's not messing around."

Seamus' eyebrows rose. "What else do you need from us, Ginny?" Harry had never liked seeing Seamus acting seriously.

"You've done plenty putting us up, Seamus…"

"But?" He grinned, Ginny answered with a smirk, and Harry felt a little relief at the return to normal personalities.

"We're going to need curse breakers. You, Bill, and I think Ernie are a good team to start. Just throw everything you've got at the wards around the Manor. I'll get the three of you together with Narcissa tomorrow if they can spare you here."

Seamus smiled with glee. "Need help destroying something, did you say?" He winked at her and stood to leave, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Sleep, Weasley. You look like hell." Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, but Harry watched her lean her shoulder into his hand.

And suddenly Harry and Ginny were in a bedroom alone. Harry watched Ginny rest her forehead into her hands, running her hands down her own face, in a show of stress Harry had seen every Weasley perform. He let his voice stay soft. "Sit down, Gin." She hesitated, but didn't argue. Harry watched her athletic body drag itself next to him. His heart beat a single loud beat when she sat next to him and put her head onto his shoulder.

"You're warm." Her voice was muffled and sleepy. Harry guessed that her eyes were closed.

Hermione stayed at the office until she had nothing else she could get accomplished. She wanted to pretend that everything was completely normal, as if she was insisting to an invisible Bellatrix that she wasn't even thinking about her. It didn't work. She triple checked that Ginny's portkey was in her bag. She walked all the way to the lift before she decided to go back and confirm that she had locked her office, which she always did even absentmindedly. Deciding to pigheadedly walk the four blocks to her flat even though she usually apparated to the alley beside the building, she walked taller than necessary, but kept her hand in her pocket, holding her wand at the ready the entire way home.

Once inside her building, she breathed a sigh of relief and wiped a bit of cool sweat from her forehead, blaming the humid night and not her anxiety. She trekked up the stairs, feeling the tension in her body challenge her breathing. It took her two tries to open her door, the key sticking in the lock. Walking in, she immediately called for Crookshanks as she set her bag on the two-person couch sat near her overstuffed bookshelf. As the kneazle came padding towards her, she knelt down to pick him up, and that was when she saw the footprints. The bare, human footprints were scattered across the floor, accompanied by what had to be Crookshanks' paw prints. Hermione couldn't quite tell what the thick, dark prints were made from, but it looked like chocolate…or…shit? Picking him up, she hesitantly sniffed him, relieved to find the substance that coated his feet and belly to, in fact, be mud.

Hermione tried to remember if it had rained, but she had been indoors all day, obstinately staying in her office. But it had been sunny this morning, and clear tonight. Hermione chastised herself for the slow pace at which her mind was working. Reaching out for something to blame for it, she settled on Ron's scare a few nights ago. She dropped the cat and attempted to step around the mess of mud as she investigated where it might have come from. It covered most of the hallway and, yes, the little white tile bathroom. She groaned internally at that, even with magic there would be remnants in the cracks of the tile for a month. As she padded carefully to her bedroom at the back of the flat, Hermione prayed to no one she believed in that she had left a window open, it had somehow rained, and that Crookshanks had brought in an impossible amount of dirt.

Her bed was gone. So was the little bedside table where she kept a glass of water and at least one book. Her grandmother's dresser. The framed photos and her mother's painting. There was a piece of parchment pinned to the far wall where the head of her bed would be. Her breathing painful in her throat and too shallow to get enough oxygen to her brain, Hermione walked forward, hoping there was nothing on it, hoping there was a simple explanation, hoping she was losing her mind. The parchment was soft in her hands, the script not at all rushed.

Run, Mudblood, so I can chase you.

The moment Hermione stepped away from the wall, she felt her feet slip. The floor began to rise. Looking down, she found the entire room filling with mud. Before she had a chance to panic, the rising sludge stopped, but she was forced to step out of her shoes, the mud up to her ankles. Her own feet now bare, she felt the mud dry quickly, forming a slick crust. Crookshanks appeared in the doorway, lifting a paw to join his human, and it broke her. Hermione fell to the earthy ground, still holding the note, and let herself weep.

With a choking voice, Hermione Accio'd her bag, checked her pocket watch, and found that she had only ten minutes until the portkey would be active. Later, Hermione wouldn't be able to put herself in the mindset of that night. She blocked it out. She would never again feel as helpless as she had when she lay her side down on the cursed mud and waited, the portkey in one hand and her wand in the other, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, wetting the dirt beneath her.

Draco cleared a space in the spare room that had been created by putting all three of the children in one bedroom. Setting himself on the softened from salt air wooden flooring, he folded his legs atop each other and perfected his general straight posture. He began to create the clear space in his mind, sweeping incoming thoughts to the side. He made himself to remember the cold, forceful fog of a Legilimens forcing his way into the space and practiced building his fence up to keep it out. Breathing his way through his practice, Draco fielded thoughts of his mother, Bellatrix, the new Ingredient Importation Regulations, the bronzed dips and muscles in Hermione Granger's neck. The fog seeped in and he collected and blocked it again, forgetting his breath. He felt his heart rate dip, and swept that thought to the side. He was pushing aside a vague memory of listening to his father negotiate a business deal when the distinct thick clunk of a person landing from a portkey interrupted his breath.

He opened his eyes, unsure of the reality of the sound, and focused on hearing, feeling his clear mental space broaden with the effort. Crying. Not a child's. Clear and physical. Downstairs. In a moment he was stepping quietly down the stairs that led to the small living room. His mouth opened with shock. It was her. Collapsed, but breathing. Covered in mud. Weeping. Draco paused, feeling very much that he was intruding on an intimate moment, wishing for the first time that Potter was nearby and could take care of this. But he wasn't.

He kept his voice even. "Granger?"

A whimper answered him. He could see the hardening crust coating her curls and forming patches on her bare feet.

"Do you know where you are?" Her weeping stopped with a hiccup, then continued, quieter, slower.

"You're at Shell Cottage." No response. He couldn't leave her here, in the living room. He could call for help…no, the Weasleys had hardly gotten their children and themselves to bed an hour ago. He could…he would help her. He clenched his jaw, remembering always his mask of invulnerability, but he approached her, bending closer to her level.

"I'm going to try to help you. You. Um. You need a bath Granger." She hiccupped again, and barely moved her head in a nod. "Good. Do you trust me?"

Silence. Her eyes opened, bloodshot, staring up at him. The lustrous darkness of them finding his own steel pupils. Another imperceptible nod. Draco caught a shallow breath in his chest and looked down at his white undershirt and sweatpants. Right, then. More unsure than he had been since his trial so many years ago, Draco fell to his knees and put his arms around her. Unbelievably, she let him. Impossibly, she put her arm around his neck to assist. Unbearably, she set her muddied face against his chest. He could feel his heart speeding, as if it could beat itself out of his chest and reach her.

He tucked his arm beneath her legs, amazed at her shortness and the balance of her body. Going up the stairs was slow, but they reached the bathroom, and he set her on her feet. She wobbled, and he caught her, helping her crumble to the floor. "Okay Granger. Now, you may have to help me a bit here." A trembling lip, another nod. Slowly, she lifted her arms. "Wonderful." He wondered if he had ever said the word without sarcasm before. With shaking fingers, he unbuttoned her robe, then pulled it off her arms. He found a blouse underneath, flimsy and gray. Hermione was silent as he unbuttoned the silver buttons and peeled it off, finding her brown arms underneath. Draco considered the undershirt and bra. No mud on them. Finding her face again, he told her, not expecting any response, "you can take those off once you're in the shower if you like." There was no nod. The eyes that had communicated with him a few minutes ago had gone dead again.

Closing his eyes and muttering "please don't hate me in the morning", he wrapped his arms around her, feeling the heat of her skin and smelling the combination of dirt and tears and snot. He lifted her up, setting her against the wall. "Put your hands on my shoulder, Granger." Draco wondered if this was the most intimate thing he had ever done as he unzipped her skirt and pulled it down, finding simple gray silk underwear he would never forget. He stood back. "Well, that'll have to do then. Can you stand for a minute?" She thought. Hard, it seemed like, and took her hands from his shoulders, which he was sure were blushing along with the rest of him.

Keeping his eyes on her, he turned on the shower. She flinched at the sound. He brought it to an easy warmth and reached out his hand, seeing if she could walk the few steps to him. When she did, he sighed with relief, and something in the back of his mind made the innocent move meaningful. "Alright. Two steps." Her hand was soft, holding his so tightly it almost hurt. She leaned most of her weight into him as she climbed into the tub. Hermione Granger looked back at him, pleading for something he didn't understand. "Hold onto that rail there." He watched her black tank top stick to her as it became wet. Every gentlemanly part of him fought not to look at the silk underthings growing slightly transparent. She gripped the rail.

Later, Draco would wish that he had taken longer to use the bar of soap to clear her soft body of any filthy remnants. But her grip on his shoulder was iron, her tears silently falling with the water, wetting his hair. He looked her over, making sure he hadn't missed any. She had kept her face out of the stream of water, and there was still mud on her cheeks. She needed to wash her face. "Can you wash your face, Granger?" She didn't move.

Draco swallowed and rubbed some of the soap onto his hands. Taking his knee off of the edge of the tub was a relief, but it was hard to stand on his stiff leg. With an agonizing tenderness, he rubbed his thumbs over her dusty forehead, across her tear-stained cheeks, down her chin and neck. She lifted her head when he softly rubbed her temples with suds. Collecting water with cupped hands, he washed the soap off of her, careful to avoid soap in her eyes.

He noticed that she stopped crying. The light in her eyes was back. They found his, and he somehow stayed upright. He turned her around and found a bottle of children's shampoo on the shower shelf. He was surprised at how easy it was to run his hands down the hair that lengthened as the curls stretched. Wincing at the dirty brown of the mud washing out of it, Draco washed her hair. His whole body reacted when she let out a little moan as he rubbed her scalp. When he turned her back around, she was clean, tendrils of black hair curling around her eyes. "You're alright." The sound of his voice seemed to surprise her, and she teetered. "Can you walk?"

She needed his arm and the walk was slower than his steps with Victorie that morning, but she made it to his room. Finding his wand, Draco cast a drying charm on her wet clothes. Draco realized he didn't know where the other spare room was, and the only other door in the hallway was the children's room. Pulling back the blankets and helping tuck her legs into the bed, he was struck at how much she had trusted him with her body, and with her broken mind. So much for my casual fascination. When she curled towards him and closed her eyes, her hand still in his, he let out an involuntary groan of tenderness towards her.

Draco tiptoed back to the bathroom and tidied, Scourgifying her dirty clothes. He went downstairs and spelled away the drippings of mud. He hadn't realized she had brought her bag. When he picked it up, a paper fluttered down to the floor. It must have been stuck to the purse, or in her hands when she landed. It took everything in him to keep from lighting his Aunt's handwriting on fire.

A/N: Finally got someone close to naked at least! ;) Thanks for Reviewing! It really encourages me!