Harry could tell that his best mate was fuming over something. For once, he had no idea what it was. Ron had actually been very well behaved at the lunch date with Hermione. He hadn't said much, but he had been civil and even volunteered to take her scarf back to her flat after she accidentally left it behind. Perhaps they'd had words? No, that couldn't be it – Hermione was staying in Italy.

After the sixth door slam, Harry sighed and prepared himself for the tirade that would inevitably come when he opened his mouth.

"What's the matter, Ron?"

"Nothing," the redhead said tightly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I think we've been friends long enough that I can tell when you're angry about something."

Ron set his toothpaste down rather forcefully. "I am way beyond angry!"

"Talk to me, then."

"No," Ron said, jabbing his toothbrush in Harry's direction. "Every time I talk about Hermione you get mad and tell me to shut up."

"Just tell me what happened," Harry sighed, exasperated.

"Fine. I'll tell you what happened. I went to her flat to drop off the scarf and she was there with some…some…man…some stupid Canadian!"

Harry frowned at that. If she was staying in Italy, why would she have been at her flat in London? And her boyfriend was Canadian? He supposed it was possible; just because she was living with him in Italy didn't necessarily mean he was Italian. She hadn't sold or rented out her flat, either, so there was no real reason that she couldn't be there…

"So you're mad because she's seeing someone else?"

"Yes!" Ron exploded. He began to pace. "No! I don't know!"

"Well, did he seem like a decent person?"

"She was crying when I walked in. He obviously did something to hurt her and that's why I'm angry!"

"You don't know that," Harry reasoned, though his protective instincts kicked in at the thought of Hermione crying, as well. "They might have just had a fight or something. I hate to say it, mate, but she might also have been crying from seeing you."

"I didn't do anything!" Ron bellowed.

"I know you didn't! I wasn't saying you did. Just…well, she loved you, and even though she initiated the breakup it still hurt her."

"Oh, please. She was probably jumping for joy after getting rid of me," Ron moped cynically.

"She wasn't. I went to see her and she was bawling. She was very upset."

Ron stopped and stared at Harry. "You went to see her?"

"Yes. You're both my best friends. I couldn't just abandon her because you were angry." He expected to be shouted at for his duplicity, but Ron just frowned.

"She was really crying?"

"Yes. A lot." Harry crossed the room and squeezed Ron's shoulder. The redhead looked confused and forlorn. "She wanted it to work, mate, but sometimes it just isn't meant to."

Ron didn't say anything for a long while. Then he walked away from Harry, but he didn't go far. He stood by the window, his arms crossed.

"I just hope that stupid man isn't hurting her."

Harry chewed his lip. Hermione had been so happy the last time he saw her. He felt protective of her, too, but Hermione was not the type of witch who would let a man push her around. There was probably some explanation.

"What exactly did you see?"

"He was hugging her and she was crying against his chest."

"Were there any marks on her?"

"No," Ron said quietly.

"Did he do anything that would make you think he'd hurt her?"

"He was…standoffish, but I wasn't really on my best behavior," the redhead admitted. "Hermione was the one who threatened to hex me, not him."

Harry was about to smile, thinking that that was the Hermione he knew and loved, when something clicked in his mind. "She said she would hex you? In front of him?"

"Yeah, wand out and everything. Why?"

"She told me that he was a muggle that didn't know she was a witch. Why would she do that in front of him?"

"When did she tell you that?"

Harry sighed. "I had dinner with her earlier in the week. She looked so radiant that I knew she was…" he chose his words carefully, "very happy."

"In love. You were going to say in love!" Ron accused.

"I was not!"

Ron scowled at him, knowing that it was a lie, but he didn't press the issue. "So she told you that he was a Muggle who didn't know she was a witch, but was threatening to hex me and talking about Aurors in front of him?"

"That's why I brought it up. It doesn't make sense," Harry responded with a shake of his head.

"Well, maybe she told him and he didn't like it and broke up with her. Maybe that's why she was crying." Ron's face lit up and he raised his pointer finger. "He did say that they were just friends!"

Harry tried not to roll his eyes at how well Ron must have listened to that. Impulsive though his friend might be, what he was saying actually made sense. Perhaps Hermione had finally taken the plunge and revealed to her Muggle boyfriend that she was a witch. Some Muggles responded positively and some didn't. Maybe he was one that didn't, and Ron had walked in on a painful breakup.

He hoped it wasn't the case. Poor Hermione deserved a great man in her life. But if this man had been so stupid as to dump Hermione, that called for some best friend comforting duty. He considered Ron and wondered if he was ready for it. It was obvious that in this case much of his ire had been out of concern for the woman he still loved…but when her heart had just been broken twice in rapid succession, Ron's presence might not be the most soothing.

"I'll go to her flat and check on her later on," Harry said. "I think it's best if--"

Ron just waved his hand. "I know, mate. I know."

"So what are we going to do about these knickers?" Smythe said, frowning over his morning coffee.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed. She was missing her second straight day of classes. She had owled and told them that she was sick; another student was taking notes for her. "I cast a lot of thorough cleansing charms. It's possible that there's no evidence of me on them."

"Just possible?"

"They were jammed behind the bed. I don't know if the spell was able to reach them."

"So basically there's a fifty-fifty chance of you being outed once they analyze the knickers."

Hermione turned briefly from the eggs she was cooking. "I hope the odds are that good."

Tiresias frowned. "Well, what are you going to do if they figure it out?" In his opinion, she had to start preparing for the inevitable.

She got out of having to respond when an owl tapped at the window. Hermione walked over to let it in. Instead of dropping its letter with her, it made a beeline for the healer. After his initial surprise, he quickly opened the letter.

Healer Smythe,

It will please you to know that evidence has come to light that clears your patient, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, of any wrongdoing in the ongoing criminal investigation of the death of Mr. Patrick Netherwood. Similar letters have been sent to Mr. Malfoy as well as his lawyer. Mr. Malfoy will be officially cleared at 15:00 hours today and the Ministry of Magic respectfully requests that you be present for the removal of his house arrest. The wards and spellwork involved in such things are quite strong and in light of Mr. Malfoy's delicate condition we believe it is best that you are on hand in case anything goes wrong. This is a routine precaution that is offered to anyone being released from house arrest. Most decline to have a healer present but in this case we must insist. If you are unable to attend, please respond as soon as possible so we can find a suitable replacement.

Thank you for your time and patience.

B. Dawlish, Acting Head Auror

Ministry of Magic

London, England

"What does it say?" Hermione asked nervously.

Tiresias broke into a wide grin. "Lucius is cleared. They found other evidence."

He was unprepared for the high-pitched shriek of joy that Hermione emitted at hearing the news. He was also unprepared for her crushing hug and the kiss on his cheek that almost gave him whiplash. Merlin, the girl was stronger than she looked!

And she was also insane, apparently, for once she had finished assaulting him, she began to dance around the small kitchen with the spatula in hand.

"Your eggs are going to burn," he cautioned grumpily, massaging his sore neck.

"Forget plain old eggs!" she exclaimed, turning off the burner. "You stay right there. I'm going to the store. We're going to have a proper breakfast with Mimosas!"

Tiresias couldn't find it in his heart to remind her that there still might be a complication with the knickers if they had been processed before the evidence that had cleared Lucius. She was so jubilant at the thought of her lover going free that she forgot all else. For now, he'd let her have her happiness and gladly celebrate right along with her.

In the Malfoy household, a similar reaction was taking place. Lucius read the letter out loud at the breakfast table.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy, It is with great pleasure that we inform you that you have been cleared of all charges in the case of the murder of Mr. Patrick Netherwood."

He never got any further because his ex-wife let out a little gasping squeak and his son nearly shouted, "It's about time!" A moment later he found himself sandwiched between them, Draco on his left and Narcissa on the right. They squeezed him in tandem.

His lips twitched and he wasn't sure if it was from the urge to smile, cry, or both. This was only the second time they had embraced like this. The first was when they knew the war was finally over, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts with the body of the Dark Lord lying neglected where Harry Potter felled him. He was glad it hadn't taken so much to provoke it this time. Lucius reached up to touch their intertwined arms and was nearly bludgeoned with emotion. He seemed to be experiencing that a lot these days.

They stayed that way until Draco's stomach growled loudly. Together, they laughed, and then separated to settle into one of the first happy family meals in years.

The afternoon came quickly and for the first time in his life, Lucius was looking forward to seeing an Auror. It hadn't been terrible to stay at the Manor but he very much missed the villa and the woman who lived in it with him. Nonetheless, this had been valuable healing time for his family that might not have happened if not for his house arrest.

It seemed as though there was a procession. First came Tiresias, about thirty minutes early. He handed Lucius a banana nut muffin and smiled. Lucius didn't need to ask who had sent it. He set it aside for the moment since he wasn't hungry.

Then his lawyer showed up. Absalon was as grim and crotchety as ever. He actually told Lucius to quit getting in trouble so that he could go ahead and die already. Tiresias looked somewhat horrified at the sentiment, but Lucius just laughed. Grier had been saying that for a very long time.

Narcissa wafted in a few minutes after Grier. She looked gorgeous in a sapphire robe, soft makeup, and a new hairstyle. Lucius suspected that she was hoping one of the Aurors (or Tiresias) was single.

Draco was the last to round out their group, straggling in from the gym. Narcissa scolded him for being in workout clothes and sweaty to boot. Draco just rolled his eyes and shrugged it off. Privately, Lucius admired how his son was putting on muscle; it was no wonder his slug in therapy the other day had caused such a bruise.

At 15:00 on the dot, the floo ignited. Three Aurors stepped through in succession. Then the green flames lit one last time, and an unexpected guest appeared. Narcissa nearly fainted.

"Minister Shacklebolt, we weren't expecting you," she said nervously. Doubtless she was thinking about the state of the Manor and of her underdressed son.

"My apologies, Ms. Black. I don't mean to intrude, but I'd like a moment alone with Mr. Malfoy."

Several people in the room glanced at each other and then at Lucius. Slowly, Lucius nodded. A few moments later everyone had shuffled out and they were alone. There were several things he might have said in the ensuing silence, but Lucius held his tongue. He just watched the tall man, waiting for whatever it was he needed privacy to say.

Kingsley observed him, perceiving the indifference that rolled off Malfoy in waves. This wasn't going to be easy. It had to be done, though. He had realized that morning that it was cruel and ridiculous of him to prolong Lucius's captivity just because of a hunch. He had done the man enough wrong and if Malfoy was off writing anonymous books to deal with it, then more power to him.

"I owe you an apology, Lucius."

Lucius just stared at him, unblinking, his eyes cold. The other wizard sighed and lowered himself into one of the spare chairs. He contemplated his interlocked fingers for a time.

"This is long overdue. I…don't want to upset you, but before he died, Mulciber confessed to me what he did to you."

That broke Lucius's composure. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. "What did that son of a bitch tell you?" he said through his teeth.

"He gave me the memory. I heard everything. Saw everything. I know what it is he gave you. I didn't understand it at the time, but with the revelation of your 'curse', I did some research…"

"What is this?" Lucius snapped. "An apology or blackmail?"

"I'm not going to say anything." He reached into the pocket of his robe. "Just like I'm not going to say anything about the identity of the lady who wore these."

In his hand he held a clear plastic bag that contained an indistinguishable mass of black fabric. Lucius frowned at it. Shacklebolt shook it slightly, shifting the pooled fabric. His blood went cold when he realized what it was.

Knickers. Hermione's knickers. Damn it to hell. Hadn't he told her to take everything? They must have been in some crevice that she missed in her panic. Hermione was a thorough woman and he knew she had done a better job of erasing her presence than anyone else could do – but even she was not perfect. Bugger. This changed everything.

"You know who they belong to?" he asked, his mouth dry. If that was what Shacklebolt had truly come to discuss, Lucius was endlessly thankful for the privacy.

"No. We did find physical evidence, but I ordered forensics to destroy it. Who you liase with is your business. I thought she might appreciate this back; I've heard that the brand is rather expensive."

Lucius took the bag wordlessly and tucked it into the pocket of his robe, conscious that he and Hermione had just dodged a very large bullet. He carefully controlled his face; if he showed too much relief, Shacklebolt would suspect something. It was bad enough that he already suspected him of authoring Faim. Lucius gathered his courage for his next statement. He didn't want to appear ungrateful because Shacklebolt had just done him a tremendous favor, but he couldn't allow the man to think that this somehow made up for his greater sin.

"While I appreciate your discretion, Minister, I resent the fact that it comes out of pity and guilt."

"Guilt, yes, but I don't pity you," Shacklebolt replied calmly.

He shook his head at the bald statement, his anger steadily building. Lucius knew that he had landed himself in Azkaban; no one had forced him to be in the Ministry that night. He had gone of his own free will so he could understand the lack of pity. He just couldn't believe Shacklebolt had known his mistake all along and never said or done anything. How could the man look him in the eye?

"You refused to listen to me, you put me in hell, and then when you found out you were wrong, you kept it to yourself to avoid the consequences. And now, almost four years later, you want to play nice?" Lucius couldn't control a sneer. "You think I care if you go and tell the world about my illness? Go right ahead, but you mustn't leave out how you punished me for being attacked by a madman and how I nearly died because your sadistic penalty prevented me from getting the care I needed. When will that story run, hm?"

Kingsley couldn't hide a grimace at the thought of the whole truth coming out. His time as Minister had been relatively scandal-free, probably due to his complete lack of an interesting life, but he had no desire to begin serving up material for the Daily Prophet now. He wasn't entirely sure how he had miscalculated with Lucius. He had thought that the Slytherin would understand the benefit of keeping quiet when one made a mistake no one else knew about, not to mention the bartering of favors to try to atone for it.

How politics had changed him…before taking office he would never have been foolish enough to think that logic and favors could make up for the kind of pain Lucius had been through. He'd never had to choose between his public image and his conscience. Or perhaps he had been doing that all along when it came to Malfoy; he had consistently judged his job and his reputation to be more important than what was right or wrong in his behavior back then. There was so much ambiguity in the entire situation.

He felt no pity for a Death Eater, a wizard he knew had committed numerous crimes and would never be punished for the vast majority of them. But the man who had been dragged to solitary in Azkaban, bleeding, half-crippled, had not appealed to him as a Death Eater. Lucius had appealed to him as a man – a person in need of his protection. His job as an Auror was to protect people, even the immoral ones, and he had failed colossally. In fact, he had done just what Lucius was guilty of: he had judged someone and used what power he had to punish them for a perceived slight that was, in reality, entirely unbased.

"I'm trying to do the right thing now. Isn't it better late than never?" he said, already recognizing the futility of it.

"No," Lucius retorted. "I do not want or need your apology. At this point it only benefits you. I have come to terms with what happened. It is your own fault that you can't." The blond wizard took a deep breath. "I am grateful for your assistance in this debacle of a case, but from now on…" he raised a hand and jabbed his pointer finger at the dark-skinned wizard, "you stay away from me. You stay away from my family. And the next time anything remotely criminal happens, disrupt someone else's life!"

Kingsley could only blink at him, stunned by the tirade that had come out of the normally composed Malfoy patriarch. Lucius wasn't done. He shot to his feet and stalked toward the door. Pulling it open, he called, "Auror Dawlish! I am ready for the cuff to be removed!"

Draco was leaning against the mantel, arms crossed, watching as they removed the cuff that had confined his father to the Manor and restricted his magic. Watching was one of his favorite things because he could see and glean so much from people when they didn't realize they were being observed. Like the healer, Tiresias Smythe – he was supposed to be monitoring his father and he had cast the necessary spells, but he wasn't paying any attention to them. His eyes were traveling back and forth between the Minister of Magic and Lucius.

Smythe didn't like Shacklebolt. The more Draco watched, the more he realized that his own father detested the man, too. Lucius was good at hiding things and others might have missed the way he acted as though Shacklebolt wasn't even there, but because Smythe saw it, Draco saw it. Ignoring someone was a prime form of scorn, worse even than a verbal expression, because it implied that the person was not even worthy of that. That was something he had only just grasped.

He wondered what had transpired in the ten minutes that had elapsed after Shacklebolt expressed the desire to speak to Lucius alone. Draco chewed his lip. He would probably never know.

He should have enjoyed the feeling of his freedom being restored. However, Lucius found that he was so angry that there was no joy in it. All he wanted was for all these people to get out of his goddamn house…and to destroy something.

Hermione was watching in amusement as Jo-Jo prepared a virtual feast in her tiny little kitchen. Just as the elf's expression of anxiety had resulted in excessive cleaning, her jubilance resulted in excessive cooking and baking. Her cupboards were going to be bare by day's end.

Jo-Jo had just handed her a mini croquette when a pain flared above her right breast. Hermione gasped and dropped the hors d'oeuvre.

"Oh!" Jo-Jo squeaked. "Is it too hot, Miss Hermione? Jo-Jo is very sorry!"

"No," she managed, "it's fine. I…" she touched the raised markings of the runes through her shirt, "I'll be right back."

She left a mystified Jo-Jo in the living room. Once in the bathroom, she tugged her shirt down. The runes Lucius had placed upon her were an angry red, lifted like welts from her skin. There was something wrong. Something was causing him great emotional pain.

He was being freed, cleared of all charges. What would upset him?

A cold chill danced up her spine. The knickers. Their relationship had been revealed. That was the only explanation…

Hermione turned and hastily sat down, her back against the vanity. She had no idea what this meant. Would they ever be together again? Would there be reporters breaking down her door? Would her friends ever forgive her?

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against them. She had to breathe. Jumping to conclusions wouldn't help anything. She needed to be patient and not assume.

If they had been revealed, surely Tiresias would come back and warn her. Yes. She would wait for him, or for the enraged appearance Harry was sure to make - whichever came first.

Draco hadn't moved. Though most everyone else had now gone from the room, his mother included, Draco felt some unknown intuition that nagged him to stay. Smythe was still here, too, warily watching Lucius.

His father was leaning against the window frame, his back to the room. His shoulders were tight with tension. That posture wasn't the stance of a free man.

A quiet beep sounded. It was Smythe's wand; he had never discontinued the monitoring charms. Draco wasn't sure what the beep meant, but it made the healer frown.

Smythe glanced at him. He looked as though he was deciding whether or not to say something. Draco stared back, clear-eyed. His refusal to leave was plain in his expression. He knew the healer was a good man and very likely a close friend to his father, but there was nothing wrong with having two people to ventilate to instead of just one.

At last, Smythe spoke.

"Lucius, your temperature is up," he said evenly. "I don't want a repeat of the sunflower field incident."

"I am not that angry."

"I'm not going to risk it. I want to give you a sedative."

Draco listened to the exchange closely. It was maddening not to know what they were talking about.

"A sedative won't miraculously erase this," his father growled.

"No, but it will give you time to calm down and process it."

There was a brief silence. Then his father took a shaky breath. "No, Tiresias. I will deal with it." He turned. "Draco, may I have a moment with Healer Smythe?"

With a frown and a sigh, Draco removed himself from the room.

Once they were alone, Tiresias asked the burning question. "What did he say to you?"

"The Minister?"

Smythe nodded.

"It isn't what he said. It's what he did…and didn't do," he replied cryptically.

"Is it something we should be reporting?" Smythe pressed.

"It might cause a satisfying scandal, but…" Lucius shook his head, "I think his guilt is the best punishment. Besides, he ordered the evidence from Hermione's knickers destroyed, so in spite of his past actions, he has done Hermione and me a very big favor."

Tiresias breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Well. That is good news."

"Indeed it is."

The healer seemed satisfied by the realization that at least one of their secrets was safe. He put his wand in his pocket and surveyed Lucius one more time. "You're certain you'll be all right?"

"I'll be fine."

"Okay. I'll go give Hermione the news."

Lucius watched him as he moved toward the floo. "Tell her I'm staying here tonight. Tomorrow I'll be back in Italy."

"I will." He turned and reached for some floo powder.

"Oh, and tell her that I love her."

Tiresias turned back, a slightly amused smile pulling at his lips. "I'm getting tired of being your intermediary, you know."

"I know," Lucius said apologetically. "This is the last time."

"It's fine. I don't mind at all." He threw the floo powder into the fireplace and called, "Hermione Granger's flat!" He was about to step through when Lucius spoke again.

"Tiresias?"

He turned back. "Hm?"

"Do you think you could send a Dreamless Sleep potion for later?"

He smiled at Lucius. "Of course."

Tiresias found Hermione sitting stiffly on the couch. Jo-Jo was next to her, desperately trying to ply the morose witch with a plate of confections that made his mouth water. The cuff's removal had taken longer than expected and it was dinner time.

"Hermione?"

She snapped to attention. "Do they know?" she asked anxiously.

"No. The Minister ordered the evidence destroyed. Apparently he owed Lucius some kind of favor…do you know why?"

Hermione shook her head. It was news to her that Kingsley Shacklebolt owed Lucius anything. She frowned. "So…we're safe?"

"One hundred percent." He reached down to take a cookie from Jo-Jo. The elf looked like she could have wept with joy. "He says he loves you and he'll be back in Italy tomorrow."

She slouched back against the couch, nearly boneless with relief. It felt too easy. She had been prepared for the worst and when she had to brace herself, she usually expected that to be what transpired. A situation where everything turned out all right was somewhat rare in her experience.

"Jo-Jo, this is delicious," Smythe said around a mouthful of cookie. "Can I take some of these back to Vancouver?"

"Of course, Master Smythe!"

"You can take half of everything she made," Hermione said, a smile slowly emerging on her face. "There's enough for ten people!"

"Good, because right now I could eat enough for ten." The healer smiled with food still in his mouth, quite on purpose. "Show me to the feast!"

Lucius sat in the study for a quarter of an hour, thinking hard. On the surface, this was all over. In reality the murder of his publisher and friend was still unsolved. Not only that, but Lucius had been linked to him. A big red target had been drawn around him. If whoever had murdered Patrick still wanted to know the identity of the author, Lucius would be the next on the list.

He sighed. This case needed to be solved, and solved fast. He had burned his bridge with Shacklebolt. That was all right with him; it had been so much more satisfying to speak his mind in that instance. He was fairly certain he could get Auror Dawlish to keep him informed on the twists and turns of the case, at the very least.

When he got back to Italy, he was going to have to cast wards around the villa. It had been mostly ward-free before. He couldn't afford to leave it that way now. It would serve a double purpose, since the Ministry and his family now knew where he was. If anyone showed up unexpectedly he would have warning and be able to ensure that he and Hermione weren't discovered.

It wasn't as if he didn't have other places to go. However, Hermione was in school in Florence and there was something about Italy that relaxed him. It was one of the few places where he had more positive memories than negative ones. Writing came easily there.

That was it, then. He exhaled. Now all he had to do was work off his frustration at Shacklebolt. The only question was how.

Draco had gone up to his room, intent upon showering and then seeing if he could find anyone to go out with. Blaise owed him a dinner from a bet they'd made a few weeks ago, and he hadn't spoken to Greg in a while. Not that Gregory Goyle was a great conversationalist, or anything…but he was a good pub mate.

He was a bit startled when he emerged from the shower and his father was standing in his room, arms clasped behind his back. Of course Draco had walked out of the bathroom naked. In theory, he was supposed to have privacy. Sometimes his parents had no concept of that.

Lucius turned and Draco groped for the shorts he'd dropped near the door. Considerately, his father turned away, but not without a slight roll of his eyes.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, Draco."

"You could've knocked," Draco grumped, yanking the shorts on.

"You were in the shower when I came in. Most people wear a robe, or at the very least a towel."

"I shouldn't have to in my own room. You can turn around now."

Lucius pivoted. "Are you going out?"

"I was thinking of it." Draco padded over to his closet and began to poke through it.

"Well, I shan't interfere with your plans, then."

With a frown, Draco turned to face his father once again. "There are no plans yet. What did you want?"

"To see if you would help me with something."

"Depends what it is," he answered cautiously.

His father bit his lower lip for a moment; when he released it, there was a flash of blanched teeth marks before the blood rushed back to his skin. "I want you to help me release the spirits from the old dining room."

Draco went pale. He couldn't help it. None of them had been in there since the war's end. It was shut up like a mausoleum, a cursed tomb that no one dared to visit.

At least six people had died in there – and those were only the ones Draco had directly witnessed or heard of. It was possible that many more had met their fates like the Muggle Studies teacher, as dinner entertainment. He still couldn't believe he had shared a table, let alone a set of beliefs, with people who were so heartless that death became a routine spectacle over pork chops.

Draco was terrified even at the thought of going in there after so long. It heartened him, though, that his father was also unwilling to go in alone. It meant that his fear was not so irrational. It also meant that his father believed him to be strong enough to handle it…strong enough to contribute to the room's cleansing.

"Tonight?" he asked at last, exercising considerable will to keep his voice level.

"I am returning to Italy tomorrow, so yes, tonight. If you would rather go out, I will understand. It can wait."

Summoning every ounce of courage he had, Draco shook his head. "It's waited years already. I'll help you."

Lucius exhaled. "All right. We'll need to consult a few books in the library first."

"I'll meet you down there in fifteen minutes?"

"Fifteen minutes," his sire said with an indecipherable little smile.

He found his son deep within the shelves of the library. Lucius took a moment to observe him. Draco had never been an overly studious boy; as long as he paid close attention to something, he would understand and remember it. It was an unfamiliar sight to behold, then, to see his blond crown bowed over a book.

In his concentration, he looked determined. No fear or anxiety intruded on his face and that was a great comfort to Lucius. It was a lot to ask to request Draco's assistance in this task.

He could remember the sickly pallor the young man's face had taken on whenever there were gatherings in that dining room. He had been able to control his emotions, locking them away somewhere with an iron will, but he couldn't control his body's natural reactions to witnessing terrible things and not being able to do anything about them. Lucius had a sneaking suspicion that there was a hero locked away inside Draco in that same place – a hero who was tempered by the irrefutable logic that he was no good to anybody if he became a martyr.

He knew Draco struggled with that. Many had gone stubbornly to their deaths in the war. Like Draco, many had also chosen a route that was far less glamorous – survival by any means necessary. He felt his lips pull into a slight sneer. There was no glamor in war. Only those who foolishly believed there was, or those who had never been touched by its greasy fingers, could exist to make judgments.

The greasy fingers of war, terror, and madness had left broad smears all over his ancestral home and those who lived in it. To some degree he had let it happen. No more. Tonight was the start of the cleansing…and he would scrub as hard as he had to.

Harry yawned as he stepped off the lift into the main concourse of the Ministry. Ron was right behind him. He looked as grumpy as Harry felt. They had just gotten out of meeting with the Minister, during which Kingsley had informed them that they never should have been put on Malfoy's case in the first place. It was poor judgment by Head Auror Pell, who was now ex Head Auror Pell. However, Kingsley was very impressed by their impartiality and maturity and had praised them thoroughly.

That wasn't the part that made them grumpy. It was when Shacklebolt told them that the evidence they had found was partially responsible for clearing Malfoy. Harry had wanted to be fair but never in a hundred years would he have thought Malfoy was actually innocent, or that his sleuthing would contribute to ensuring the loathsome pureblood's continued freedom.

"Ugh," Ron said as they neared the floo network. "I still can't believe it."

"I know," Harry agreed. "I guess we'll never know whose knickers those were."

"I guess not. I'm going to go to the Burrow and eat about five helpings of my mother's cooking. Want to join me?"

"No, that's all right. Ginny's cooking."

"You're going to check on Hermione, right?"

"Yes, after dinner."

"Okay," he nodded as he grabbed a handful of floo powder. "Later, mate." Ron called out his destination and disappeared into the flames. Harry was left in the mostly empty hall; it was after hours and all the sensible people were at home. He reached for his own handful of powder.

Just then, a voice sounded.

"I know whose knickers they were."

"What?" Harry said, turning. His eyes surveyed a woman; she was tall and quite skinny, with curly red hair. She had an odd discoloration across the skin of her face. She seemed vaguely familiar, but Harry couldn't place her.

"The knickers you and Weasley found at Malfoy's villa. I know who they belong to."

"The Minister ordered the evidence destroyed, so I don't see how you could possibly know."

"I work down in forensics. I ran the DNA matching spells before destroying the evidence. Curiosity killed the cat, you know." She smirked.

Harry frowned at her. Something in his gut told him that he didn't like her. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Oh, you don't remember me? That's surprising. You were so very sweet on my best friend during school."

Harry frowned. He could barely recall being 'sweet' on anyone, before Ginny. Ah, but there had been Cho. This woman was Cho's friend?

One more glance at her face had things aligning in his brain. She was Marietta Edgecombe, the girl who had betrayed them fifth year. She had told Umbridge and the Ministry about Dumbledore's Army. That would be why he didn't like her.

"I can see you're still great at keeping secrets," he said caustically.

"Aren't we all?" she responded. "Your friend Granger more than most."

"What do you mean?" he snapped. He was becoming irritated with her smugness. He was tired and hungry and he just wanted to go home.

"The knickers were hers."

Harry stared at the redhead. "Yeah, right. You must think I'm a complete idiot."

"I knew you wouldn't believe me." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "So here's your proof."

Against his better judgment, Harry took the paper. It looked every inch an official DNA analysis report. Epithelials had been analyzed and matched to one Hermione Granger – whose DNA would be in their system after the wicked hex she'd taken from Dolohov, resulting in her spending weeks in hospital. Marietta's credentials were at the top as they were required to be. Such reports had to designate who had completed them.

"Did you file this?" he asked slowly.

"No."

"How do I know this isn't just a fake? I know you hate Hermione. This would be a great way to discredit her, wouldn't it?"

"You're smarter than you look," Marietta sneered.

"Well, the last time I checked it was you that had SNEAK written across her face, not Hermione," Harry snarled back.

"It's not a fake," she said coldly, "but that one you're holding is a copy. I have the original readout."

He was beginning to understand. "What is it that you want, Marietta?"

"What do I want?" She stepped closer, her eyes ablaze with anger and hatred. "I want that little bitch Granger to give me the counterjinx. I'm tired of looking like this."

"Then why are you telling me?" Harry demanded, his voice rising in volume.

"I just want to show her how serious I am. She'll get a letter from me soon enough."

"That's blackmail."

Marietta stepped back, the grin on her face a blatant dare. "Report me, then."

They both knew that he couldn't – not without showing people the DNA analysis results. Whether it was true or not, it was the kind of thing that could destroy Hermione. Harry couldn't risk it. For the time being, Marietta won.

She knew it. She lifted her hand to wave and said in a saccharine voice, "Good night, Harry."