A loud knock startled Charlie Weasley out of the reverie the pair of lips on his neck was creating.

"Ignore it," those lips said. It was tempting, especially when the wicked tongue danced across his earlobe.

"But what if it's something important?" he replied, squirming.

"This is important. I am important."

"Vladimir..."

The persistent wizard gave up, releasing Charlie. "Fine. Go see who it is. But if they ask you to cover their shift at the Sanctuary, you say no!"

"I will, I swear." Charlie rolled out of bed and groped for his pajama bottoms and a long t-shirt, hoping it would conceal the obvious. Once he was dressed, he jogged through the small house to the door.

He opened the curtains a crack and instantly saw a mop of red hair. Beneath it, there was a familiar scowling face.

"Fuck," he breathed. Charlie did an about-face and ran back towards the bedroom. Vladimir was sprawled out across the bed, quite naked and impatiently waiting for him to return.

"Well?" the dark-haired wizard said.

"It's my brother."

"Which one?"

"Ron, the youngest. Get dressed. Hurry up!"

Vladimir rolled his eyes. "They still don't know you're gay?"

Charlie sighed and threw his ponytail over his shoulder. "If you knew my mother...the moment she realizes I'm not going to give her a hundred grandchildren, it'll break her heart. I can't live with that!"

"What are you talking about? You can adopt if you want children."

"Vlad!"

"All right, all right, I'll get dressed!"

"Thank you!" Charlie made to leave and then whipped around again. "And get out of my bedroom!"

"I sincerely hope you never say that to me again," Vlad mumbled, but he was pulling his clothes on, so Charlie didn't worry about it. He made his way back to the door, and hoping that he did not look too flustered, he pulled it open.

"What took so long?" Ron demanded crossly.

"Uh, Ron, in case you forgot, you're the one who came to my house unannounced, so it would be nice if you had even a trace of manners," Charlie retorted. He didn't say it with as much force as he might have, for even with a quick, casual observation, he could tell that something was bothering his brother.

"Sorry," Ron huffed. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, I guess." He stood aside and Ron stalked in. His broom trailed behind him. Charlie frowned. "Did you fly here?"

"Yeah."

"All the way from England?"

"Yeah." Ron threw himself into one of the armchairs.

"Ron, that's insanity. Why didn't you Apparate?"

"Didn't feel like it."

Charlie made a face. "What's wrong, then?"

"What do you mean?" Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm not an idiot, Ron. It's not like you guys come out here all the time, and I know the flight isn't a joyride. What's going on?"

There was a long pause. "Nothing's going on, all right? Nothing." Ron set his jaw and then looked up. "Can I stay here for a while, Charlie?"

"Don't you have Auror training?"

"I'm taking a break."

"You can't take a break from Auror training. They'll kick you out. Don't you only have a few more months to go?"

"I said I'm taking a break!" Ron snapped. "Now quit it with the twenty questions!"

"All right! Merlin's balls, you're a ray of sunshine!" Charlie grumped in return. But again, he controlled himself, because he knew something was not right with his brother. "You can stay, but if it's going to be more than a week you have to help pay for the groceries."

"Fine." He reached into his pocket and threw a handful of galleons onto the coffee table.

Charlie looked up. Vladimir was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching with great interest. He raised an eyebrow. Charlie shrugged in return.

Ron rubbed his eyes. "I'll be fine on the couch if you just give me a blanket."

"I have a spare bedroom, Ron. I'm not that poor."

"I don't want to be an inconvenience."

Charlie sighed, well acquainted with his youngest brother's stubbornness. "For the love of all that is holy, Ron, get in the spare room before I set a dragon on you."

Ron muttered under his breath, but he stood up and dragged his broom towards the hallway. He stopped briefly when he drew even with Vladimir. Looking him up and down, Ron said, "Are you his boyfriend?"

Vladimir smirked. "Yes."

Charlie didn't know who to yell at first. "Ron! Vlad!"

Ron turned back, an annoyed look on his face. "We figured out a long time ago that the only reason you don't have girlfriends is because you don't like girls. Really, Charlie, dragons are not that interesting."

"Mum seems to think they are!" he protested.

"Mum will get over it." Ron turned back to Vlad. "Sorry you're meeting me like this. I'll be less of a git tomorrow."

"But only slightly less," Charlie said, half-murderous.

Ron shrugged and disappeared down the hallway. Once the door to the spare bedroom clicked shut, Vladimir crossed the living room to stand next to Charlie.

"See? You don't have much to worry about."

"On the contrary. This really isn't like Ron," he said, a slight anxiety invading his voice. "All he could talk about a few years ago was becoming an Auror, and now he's just quitting all of a sudden? Something's happened." Charlie sat down on the arm of one of the chairs. "He didn't even pack a bag."

"Give him time. I'm sure he'll talk about it when he's ready."

"I hope so."

Vlad's hand crept to his hair and deftly undid his ponytail. Nimble fingers slid through the ginger waves to massage the spot at the base of his neck. "In the meantime," he said, "we were interrupted, and since you told me to get out of your bedroom, we will have to pick things up elsewhere, won't we?"

Hermione woke to the sound of the cats tussling. Musca wasn't a kitten anymore, and though he and Crookshanks got along famously most of the time, they did occasionally fight when one annoyed the other. In this case it appeared that Musca had gotten a little too insistent with his attempts to incite Crooks to play, and Crookshanks wasted no time swatting him smartly across the nose.

She reached for her wand and separated the cats with a quick spell. Musca hissed; Crooks turned his back and stalked away. She had to smile. They would be the best of friends in another ten minutes. That was how they were.

She laid back down in bed, staring at the bedroom ceiling. Much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. She had prepared herself to lose the man she loved and now she was engaged. Her brain still couldn't process it all.

Lucius had evidently managed to drag himself out of bed before her. She wasn't sure how. Then again, she wasn't sure where he'd found last night's energy, either. If the day had been stressful on her it had easily been a hundred times more stressful for him, but at the moment he put his hands on her skin, it was as if he'd just awakened from the best sleep of his life.

A smile curled across her face. She knew for a fact that some couples grew tired of one another, but she didn't see how she could ever grow tired of Lucius. There was so much she had not yet uncovered.

Hermione yawned and turned over. The bed was so comfortable. She was just dropping into a light doze when a scuffling noise prompted her to open her eyes. It sounded like...oh, bugger, not again!

She shot from the bed. Crookshanks was, for the most part, a very even-tempered cat, but every now and then he got it in his head that he wanted to play with the delivery owls. The larger ones could fend him off easily. The smaller ones had a more difficult time. By the sound of it, it was a small one.

She found Crooks by the door of the courtyard. He had a small brown owl pinned to the ground by its wings. The bird was nearly beside itself with fear.

Unceremoniously, she plucked Crookshanks from atop the poor creature and tossed him across the hallway. He was heavy so she didn't throw him often, but he'd earned it this time. He landed on his feet with the thump of a well-fed cat as she tried to calm the owl.

The bird nipped at her; it was too frightened to recognize that she wasn't another enemy. However, an owl treat quickly cured that. It let her hold it as it devoured the extra-large snack. She could feel its heart racing. Hermione turned and glared at Crookshanks, who was sitting right where he landed and cleaning his paws.

"Silly cat," she muttered darkly. "If you wanted to play you shouldn't have swatted Musca."

Crooks paused for a second, giving her a look that bore more scorn than Severus Snape had ever been able to muster, and then continued his cleaning. It was then that she saw the corner of an envelope sticking out from beneath the cat. She felt no guilt yanking it out from under him - not after that last look.

She recognized Harry's handwriting on the envelope. He hadn't the heart to buy a new owl after Hedwig's death, so he either used Ginny's or any random one he could find to send mail now. At least Crooks hadn't gone after Ginny's owl. That wouldn't have gone over well.

She opened the envelope, fighting a yawn.

Hermione,

Draco knows. I tried to warn you last night, but couldn't get past the wards. I've sent a letter to Lucius, as well, on the off chance that you aren't together. Be careful.

Harry

The note fell from her hands. If she was not mistaken, Lucius had gone for his usual brunch with Draco. They would meet shortly, if they were not already sitting down somewhere. She could only hope that Lucius had gotten Harry's letter before he left. But even as she thought it, her eyes lit on something: a shredded envelope. Either Crooks or Musca had intercepted the second letter and laid it to waste. Lucius would be completely blindsided...unless...

Lucius was perplexed. He could have sworn he made a brunch date with Draco, but his son was nowhere to be found. He wasn't in his room or his gym, and a few spells told Lucius he wasn't anywhere on the grounds. Narcissa hadn't seen him, either. Had Draco forgotten? Or perhaps he'd been called in to work?

More likely he was with that girlfriend of his. Well, Lucius had little room to complain; he had missed an engagement or two on account of being thoroughly distracted by and with Hermione. Truth be told, he wished he had cancelled this particular brunch. Hermione had looked so beautiful this morning, sleeping peacefully with her hair in absolute disarray. He pried himself from the bed with the reasoning that now that she agreed to marry him, he would be able to wake up next to her every morning, and there were plenty of days left to laze in bed.

Besides, he couldn't neglect the other important people in his life. He didn't see Draco often enough. It could very well be that Draco hadn't realized that he meant to meet him at the Manor and go to the restaurant from there. He might be waiting for him.

Lucius took a handful of floo powder and a moment later he was stepping out of the fireplace in the vestibule of his favorite brasserie. The maitre'd knew him, and nodded right away.

"Dining with your son, Monsieur Malfoy?"

"Yes. Has he already arrived?"

"No, sir. You are the first."

Lucius frowned. Odd. The maitre'd had picked up two menus and silverware rolls, but Lucius halted him with a gesture. "I'll wait for him, I think."

Draco knocked. His palms were sweating, but not because he was nervous. In almost twelve hours he had not been able to shake the adrenaline-fueled anger that boiled inside him; though the weather was cool, he felt feverish. Maybe he was delirious. He didn't know anymore.

Marietta opened the door. First she looked confused. Then her face took on a look of concern. Ah, so he looked as bad as he felt.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he ground out. "Nothing. I just need to stay with you for a little while."

She nodded, but frowned slightly. "What's a little while?"

"I don't know."

Marietta nodded. "Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Please just let me in."

She nodded again and took his hand. Draco followed her, glad for the brief moment of someone else being in charge. His mind had been racing for hours; he no longer knew what he was supposed to be doing. He had tried to ride it out at the Manor, but everywhere he looked reminded him of his father and...her.

He left with every intention of meeting his father for brunch and telling him exactly what he thought - not that he was even sure of that, yet - but when he stood in front of the fireplace, he couldn't do it. He couldn't look the man in the eye. More than that, he couldn't trust himself not to say something that he would regret.

Draco sat on Marietta's couch, posture stiff, eyes unfocused. He was dimly aware of her moving around the flat, thankfully knowing by some feminine instinct that now was not the time to interrogate him. So much had happened. When 47 came to him the day before, explaining that he was needed for a very difficult mission, Draco could never have imagined what he meant. For one thing, convicted criminals weren't allowed to work Time Turner missions, even if they were allowed to become Unspeakables. Draco had no training because he ought not have been eligible for the mission in the first place.

Then came the shock that he was to accompany his father on an excruciatingly personal quest. He had known about the rape from reading the book, and he had access to the request records, but he'd never thought to look up his own family. Actually being there - the day, the hour, the moment - was overwhelming. To stand there, feeling the humidity his father had described, smelling the grass, hearing the crickets and ominous footfalls...and worst of all, knowing what was to come...it was a nightmare.

For the hundredth time Draco questioned why he had been chosen. Not only was it a breach of rules, but a complete conflict of interest. How could they know he wouldn't act rashly in the mire of his own family's past? Draco had seen so many things he wanted to change - and so many things that explained the way things turned out.

"You are the only one who can do this," 47 had said. "Don't question it. Go with him, and do not interfere."

Draco rubbed his hands over his face. All of it had shocked his system, first and foremost because his father walked away. Draco had come perilously close to murdering that Muggle himself. Never, not even in the darkest of moments, had Draco ever felt the hatred necessary to cast the Killing Curse. In that instant, watching both versions of his father move towards some unforeseen fate, his body thrummed with murderous rage. He need only have spoken the words.

That was terrifying enough. He ran from it, his breath clawing in his chest. He had no understanding of what his father was doing, but he remembered 47's words.

Go with him, and do not interfere.

He hadn't, and Draco had seen more than he ever wanted to. His mind couldn't make sense of it, nor could it sort the tangled jumble of thoughts and emotions that barraged him now. As if that wasn't enough, then they returned, and his father had...

That hatred welled again, and his hands began to shake.

He must have miscommunicated with Draco somehow, for it was clear his son wasn't coming. Lucius made his apologies to the maitre'd and left. In a way this was convenient; he had meant to continue the search for the perfect ring for Hermione. She didn't want one, but he didn't care. The desire to give her something beautiful to cement the strength and status of their relationship trumped that.

She would argue that it was just a thing. He didn't see it that way. To him, a ring would be the one outward symbol of his place in her life. They couldn't be seen in public together, but she could wear his ring.

Lucius frowned as he made his way out into the frenetic scene that was Diagon Alley on a Saturday morning. It seemed more crowded than usual, and the buzz of conversation much louder. Everyone was talking about the attacks that occurred the day before.

A flash of memory hit him hard in the gut: Diagon Alley during the war, shops boarded up, the cobblestones dirty and broken and trod upon only by an intrepid few who dared to go out. The emotion he felt took him by surprise. Like the Manor, he had never realized how awful Diagon Alley had been at that time.

It was a place that once held mixed feelings for him. Of course, he respected the wizarding high street and many of its establishments. However, he had always resented the social and societal mixing that was necessary to get anything done. No longer, for he had seen what his desire for exclusion had done to this place.

He walked, doling out a few nods of acknowledgment to familiar faces. Bothersome as it was, shopping for a ring today would draw too much attention. He was only interested in one shop. Though it was down a small side street, on a day like this even that would be crowded. He wasn't afraid of the gossip, but it would be foolish to advertise that there was a woman in his life. The tabloids could be relentless. He couldn't chance the papers deciding the most interesting news item of the week (aside from yesterday's violence) was his relationship.

He was contemplating a new broom when an owl dove and made a beeline for him. Reflexively, he held his arm up for it to land. It wasn't an owl he recognized, but perhaps it would hold the answer to Draco's absence.

The owl didn't stay once he took the letter; it flew off across the street to a perch above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. George Weasley had recently invented an owl treat that was irresistible to owls and increased their stamina, enabling them to fly an extra two hours without feeling tired or hungry. If he kept up with inventions like that, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that a Weasley might one day eclipse the Malfoy wealth.

That, Lucius reflected as he unrolled the parchment, would be an interesting day if it ever came. He recognized Hermione's handwriting. In one sweep of his eyes, his good humor evaporated and it became crystal clear why Draco had not shown up for brunch.

Draco knows. Please be careful.

He swore under his breath. It was loud enough, for an elderly witch turned and gave him a disapproving look. Lucius couldn't summon the manners to look apologetic. He didn't have his cane with him but at this moment he wished for it; he needed something to lean on. No, he needed to sit down.

He found a bench, not realizing that he had crumpled the parchment into a ball in his palm. He had forgotten for a brief moment that things in his life rarely came up roses. While nothing about his Time Turner experience had been easy, his happiness at returning to Hermione and her agreement to marry him made him forget that everything had consequences. Especially anything that involved a Weasley temper.

He sighed. The Weasley boy must have told Draco. It was the only explanation.

Lucius couldn't muster any anger. If the situation were reversed, he would do the same...or worse. If he was honest with himself, he would likely do much worse. However, he would never be so blind to the gift that was Hermione. Nor would he make the mistake of thinking he could somehow make her be someone she was not. Not only would that ruin all her appeal, but anyone who really knew her should realize that it was a fool's errand.

Mental footing regained, Lucius opened his hand. With a squint and a thought, the parchment sparked and caught, burning with a green heatless glow. He had not used that spell in a long time. It was the one he had used to burn all Death Eater correspondence. It was considered dark magic because cold fire ought not exist - many could not suspend the expectation of universal laws enough to actually produce it, in spite of the fact that people used floo powder every day. Why one form of heatless combustion, whether sustained or not, was any less shocking than another escaped Lucius. It was strange, sometimes, how users of magic allowed themselves to be bound by the ordinary. It seemed counterintuitive.

Ah, but that kind of thinking got him in trouble sometimes. Like now - he had not extinguished the flame even after the parchment burned away to nothing, and was drawing a few curious looks. He remembered how calming it had once been to stare at the flames dancing over the lines of his palm. It should have bothered him that he still found such things comforting. As before he didn't bother with shame; it would only clutter his thoughts.

He knew Draco and the Golden Trio had not gotten along in school. But that was the issue of a boy, not a man. Perhaps Draco was upset because he hadn't told him? Trust would forever be an issue between them, but things were so much better now. Wouldn't Draco understand why he kept quiet? He had to, because even though Lucius had pledged in therapy to answer every question he had as truthfully as possible, Draco had never once asked who he was seeing.

The reason for Draco's anger wasn't all that relevant, anyway. Lucius had not been sure of many things in his life, but of this he was sure: he would not let something like this get between him and his son. Draco could despise him for any number of reasons because lord knew Lucius had given him enough to choose from, but if they were still on speaking terms after all that had happened, he would be damned if love would be the final straw.

No, no, no.

Lucius closed his hand and the flame blinked out. A second later, the bench was empty.

Tiresias dropped his coffee, barely missing his foot, when Lucius Apparated into his flat. He had only a second to register the look of absolute determination in Lucius's eyes before a hand clamped onto his shoulder. He knew the blond's intentions immediately.

"Lucius, I'm not even-"

Pop.

"-Dressed!" Tiresias finished as they blinked into existence. "What in the hell-"

But Lucius was gone. The only person in the room with him was another bewildered man sitting in one of four armchairs with a magazine in his lap. He blinked a few times and then removed his glasses.

"I'm Healer Newberry," he said, with astounding grace considering the circumstances. "And who might you be?"

Marietta screamed. No one had ever Apparated into her flat before, because no one should be able to without the specific alteration of her wards. However, that was of little consequence to someone like Lucius Malfoy.

In spite of acting like a zombie for the last two hours, Draco came running when she screamed. The expression on his face when he saw his father told her everything she needed to know. This was a conflict between the two of them.

Instinctively, she moved to intervene - to protect Draco. One look and a controlled jab of Lucius's hand sat her down on her bottom and pinned her there. She hoped in vain that the distraction would allow Draco to land the punch he was winding into, but it wasn't to be. Lucius ducked beneath his arm and caught Draco in a bear hug. Then, with a loud and echoing pop, they were gone.

"Healer Newberry?" was all Tiresias could manage. He couldn't control the completely irrational feeling that Lucius had cheated on him.

"Yes. Now, I know you were clearly deposited here by Mr. Malfoy, who is fortunate that I am a tolerant man, but I would dearly appreciate knowing who you are."

"I am Healer Smythe," he returned, unable to keep a note of surliness out of his voice.

"Oh!" Newberry snapped his fingers, standing up. "His personal healer. He's mentioned you." He strode over and held out a hand.

Tiresias ignored it. "Mentioned me? When?"

"During his-"

At that moment, the unmistakable pop of Apparition drew their attention. Lucius tumbled into view, entangled with another person.

"Oh, heavens," Newberry breathed. He moved for his wand, which Tiresias saw sitting on the table next to his armchair. He couldn't get to it, for Lucius and his companion knocked the table over in their struggle. Tiresias was helpless; he had been taken without his wand.

Well, not entirely helpless. He took a deep breath, gathering himself, and prepared his best angry doctor lecture voice - it had worked before. However, this time he didn't need it. A second later, Lucius wrestled the other man, who Tiresias now recognized as his son, to his back on the floor.

"Be still!" he thundered, in a voice that could have curdled the blood of the darkest wizard. Tiresias drew a sharp breath. He had never seen this Lucius, not even in the sunflower field. Apparently Draco had; he obeyed. He ceased his fight, but both healers could see that he still shook with rage.

Lucius climbed to his feet, lithe and incredibly controlled, belying the raw power that had come out of him just moments before. He sat in one of the armchairs, calmly crossing one leg over the other. He gestured at the other chair, attention still on his son.

"You will sit. You will listen. I have done you that courtesy and now you will do the same for me before you choose to condemn."