A/N: For the sake of this chapter let's assume Xeno never tried to turn the Trio over to Voldy.

Enjoy,

Vine

The world stops turning in the wake of the Dark Lord's defeat. The stillness is maddening. Every motionless breath is interrupted by a screaming child or any number of loved ones needing something from us. It's a simple decision to move around if only to see if one place holds fewer answers than the last.

My uncle, Ted Tonks, returns home to meet Teddy, Mother and I for the first time the day after the battle. The Ministry is reconstructed overnight, with Kingsley Shacklebolt taking the position of Minister swiftly - so swiftly it could have been the plan all along. Potter and Hermione return to the old Black residence while she scours the ancient library for information on reversing memory charms. Godfather sleeps between Prince Manor and Andromeda's, swearing he will never step foot on the Hogwarts grounds again.

We spend days attempting to contact Luna's father to no avail. Communication to Saint Mungo's and Azkaban is useless. The institutions are so overcrowded the staff have no time to answer missives or pleas from visitors. I'm beginning to run out of hope of ever meeting my father-in-law alive.

Luna and I chance to approach the Lovegood home only to find it vacant. It feels like walking into a portrait, everything frozen in time as if it's occupants have merely stepped out for a stroll. There is tea in the kettle, an open newspaper on the kitchen table, a cloak left on the hook. Luna departs with me in a dazed emptiness, a shallow longing not backed by the winds of hope.

After a week has passed we attempt to return to the Manor only to find the outside of the gates overrun with Aurors and curse-breakers trying in futility to circumvent the wards. Mother and I weren't notified of this unwelcome intrusion. It seems we never are. As such, we depart as soon as we came. If the governing bodies don't have the decency to alert us to their conniving presence, we will repay them in kind by not opening the gates.

Two weeks after the final battle, a knock comes to Andromeda's door. Gentle, tactful, light but firm rapping. A tall golden body stands in the threshold carrying a double bouquet of coral and white roses. Mother's roses.

"Blaise," I breathe in shock, the cup of tea I was holding shattering into a lukewarm mess on the floor "You're alive."

"Indeed I am," he croons "As are you, prince. Invite me in?"

I swing the door open to allow him entrance, vanishing the spilt tea before Mimsy has a chance to lambast me for it.

We sit stock still across from each other in the parlour chairs for eternity, him perusing me with his catlike eyes as if he has no place better to be in the world. My chest rises and falls with laboured breaths. I'm afraid if words pass my lips I'll awaken screaming and the nightmare will begin once more.

The sound of Mother's prim pumps echoes in the corridor towards us, but I can't manage to break my concentration. I'm studying each line of him - the faint brown hair grazing his jaw tastefully, the low curls shining in the lamplight, his long fingers caressing the arm of the overworn chair like the finest Persian rug. The supple black shoe leather doesn't crease against his feet as he stands, doesn't make a sound as he glides across the room.

"Mamma," he greets cooly, cupping Mother's face in one hand as he kisses her on the cheek, "I've brought something to return to you," He lifts the extravagant bouquet from a side table, leaning it directly under her nose. "...and a gift from Esperanza." He reaches into his pocket, taking out a peach coloured wine that is undoubtedly worth more than the crystal it will be consumed from.

I don't deign to listen to Mother's reply, saving all of my focus for the wizard before me. Words are a commodity with Blaise, more than the gifts, more so than life. If knowledge is power, he sits on a throne of secrets as heir to an empire of unseen gold. I don't know what to make of it anymore. As such, I ask the most prudent question I can to open the bargaining table -

"How did you find me?"

He laughs from deep in his chest, my ignorance tickling the depths of his amused heart.

"Really, prince? You're shit at hiding."

"I'm not hiding."

"Anymore."

"Touche."

He leans his elbows forward to rest on his knees, his long limbs collecting in painful reminiscence of a crouching acromantula.

"Why am I here? So glad you asked, darling." he mocks with a predatory grin "I've missed you too, and I'm afraid to say I'm quite worried for your sanity. One too many swims in the deep end, prince?"

"I'm fine," I lie, hoping he'll play along. I don't know why I torture myself so.

"Truly? Do tell," he says leaning back against the battered grey velvet. I say nothing. "Mmm. And you haven't contacted me, why again? Oh yes, too busy playing dead. Which was needless, might I add."

"I couldn't, Blaise. I would have led them right to you..."

"Ye of little faith," he interrupts, shaking his head as if answering an insipid question from a child. "You're terrible at hiding, prince; not me."

He taps his immaculately manicured fingertips against each other, expecting an apology that won't come. I'm not sorry for staying behind with Mother. I'm not sorry for risking my life. I'm not sorry for Luna. Esperanza may have gone through the trouble of bringing me across a hostile border as a favour to her son, but I highly doubt my mother and wife would have warranted her good graces - much less Hermione or the Weasel, not that they would have come.

He breaks the silence -

"Are we sad about il papà, or good riddance? Which day is it?"

"Neither...nothing," I spit, "He was nothing."

"I see," he coaxes, standing in a tease of bidding me farewell. "Well then, I suppose you won't be needing my assistance since you are perfectly fine, positively dandy," he goads in that irritatingly fruitful sarcasm of his. "Does kissing death on the lips have you smitten, prince?"

I dare not call his bluff as I know this opportunity will only present itself once.

"I need to locate her father. Make sure she's somewhere safe before they come for me."

"Ah, the stories are true then, Mr Granger? Congratulations," he purrs.

I grant his desires, singing like the trapped bird I am - the one he has caught in a corner.

"The Malfoy vaults are under siege, all I have is a magic carpet. It's been damaged."

"I'm listening."

"Sectumsempra to the tassels. It might still fly."

He grants me a half-mouthed smile, hypnotizing me with his golden stare.

"Oh, I'm certain a little stitching will have it right as rain." He arches a perfect chocolate brow. "Half when I find daddy dearest, and the rest when you decide to play footsie with Dementors then? I'll remind you one final time my mother has offered her services."

The picture of what awaits me if I accept his offer plays over again in my mind: Living out my days as a fugitive in a foreign country without my family's wealth to lean on. Working demeaning jobs - or worse, working for Blaise and being beholden to his fickle whimsy and outlandish schemes. Dragging Luna along with me. Luna refusing to flee and being separated from her. Being torn from Mother, again. Abandoning Andi, Teddy, all the people I've grown accustomed to caring for.

"I'll take my chances," I say "It's worth at least going to trial."

If worse comes to worst I'll get visitation a few times per month. In the most serendipitous case, I'll be awarded what's left of the Malfoy fortune and my heirs can stand proud upon my grave. Everyone I love will never know deprivation again.

"Suit yourself, prince. Give me a week," he dismisses, gripping one of his broad hands over the door to see himself out.

He pauses on the handle, sliding his feline eyes to absorb my figure from foot to head. He changes his mind - as he's prone to do - slinking over to me to place his hand against my face. His heavy lips brush my cheek a moment too long as the silken skin of his thumb caresses the hollow above my jaw. Demise couldn't sound sweeter than when it's delivered in liquid silver of his voice. He murmurs in my ear the killing bite.

"You never listen, prince."

xoXOXox

Three weeks after the final battle, a visitor arrives.

It's Blaise again. As much as I truly want to meet Draco's friends, I haven't been invited, so I listen. I stand at the periphery between the kitchen and sitting room, singing to Teddy while I bounce him on my shoulder.

"Found him," Blaise begins without greeting.

"Where?" Draco replies,

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, prince."

"Where is he now?"

"In the hospital."

"Why?"

"Talking crazy; well, crazier than usual. And rat bites. Droves of them." I can hear the eye roll in Blaise's silky tone. "Nearly starved, cruciatus, you name it."

"Fuck. They knew."

"Of course they knew. You should truly leave skullduggery to trained professionals, darling."

"Please don't, Blaise. I'm married."

"Hmm. Quaint."

Silence.

"How ill-informed are you, prince?"

"I don't know what I don't know, do I?" Draco bites sarcastically.

"Do you know Nott is dead?"

It's at this point I move fast to take the baby to Remus. I run through the sitting room to the parlour to see Draco staring blankly ahead of him, motionless.

"No," he whispers without a change of expression.

Blaise doesn't seem to have an ounce of sorrow in his eyes as I round the corner. Maybe he's a stronger Occlumens than Draco. It's hard to get a read on him since his aura changes colours with the wind.

"It's true. Overdosed. Died of a broken heart," he says more nonchalantly than the situation calls for.

"What do you need from me, kitten?" I interject, rubbing his shoulder gently to get him to look up at me. He doesn't, preferring to concentrate on Blaise's shoes instead.

"I'll be fine," he assures himself.

"You must be the beautiful Mrs Granger," Blaise says to me.

"No, that's Hermione," I respond on instinct without taking my eyes off of Draco. "Well, Miss for her actually, but you understand the point. Slytherins always do."

"Ah, not always, Bellissima. Your dear kitten might agree," he responds.

The way he said that rings with the distinct sound of an insult. I turn to see his eyes filled with amusement. Not an occlumens then - just heartless.

"Who had the rat bites?" I ask to take his scrutiny away from Draco. "Crucio is a simple fix so long as it's caught in time. I hope they are being treated well."

Blaise slides his eyes to my love.

"Not my news to deliver," he states calmly.

Draco pulls his hair from the roots, begging his Occlumency shields to work. He takes a deep inhale to say his piece in one breath.

"Your father was found in the Manor dungeons, Luna. He's in Saint Mungo's now."

Blaise stands tall to his feet as the news hits me in the chest.

"Do excuse me, Mrs Granger, I have an errand to attend to. Draco, we'll settle our payment on my next visit, yes?"

"Take it now," he says, reaching in his pocket to hand over the larger part of the shrunken, shredded carpet.

"Too generous for your own good, prince," Blaise replies, bending to kiss Draco on the cheek.

He blows another kiss in my direction as he makes his way to the front door.

"Try not to let the melodrama ruin your day, doll. You still have a lot left to lose."

I let the door click quietly shut on his way out without so much as a wave goodbye.

He's right, if insensitive. I stand to lose what's left of my world. Losing is not something I'm good at. Draco isn't either. That's why neither of us can sit still. In the quiet moments and unmoving spaces we both feel the weight of our shattered realities, so we have to run about. We force ourselves to go collect the scattered remains, piecing them back together to build a life we can feel at ease in.

"So, Theo's grave first, or Saint Mungo's, my love?" I ask.

I instantly can't bring myself to call him "darling" anymore. I've come to realize today that word is not mine. Either Blaise has stolen it from me or I have used it without his permission. Either way, I don't wish to bring up the images it likely does for my love. I wonder how many times I've unknowingly called to Draco's mind a picture of a person who toys with him so.

"The living are more important than the dead. Let's tend to them first," he responds.

"Not more important, more urgent," I correct him.

"Let's go then,"

"No kitten, I have to go alone. There may be aurors to control the crowd."

"Fuck them. If they take me today, we can get this behind us sooner rather than later."

My heart lurches at the thought. Luckily, my lover is an intelligent person who listens well to reason.

"I understand not wanting to wait, kitten, but isn't it better to wait out here with me than in there with dementors?"

He pauses for a moment, mulling over my words and their implications.

"Take Godfather with you, he'll be able to get you in sooner. I'll go to the Black house while you're out. I'm sure there will be a book there to help me find Theo's resting place."

We kiss goodbye to depart into the inevitable.

I arrive at Saint Mungo's to the crowd I had expected. There is a line flowing to the sidewalk with several clusters of people standing on the grass. Some are smoking muggle tobacco, others are shouting pointlessly at the guards. A line of aurors blocks the entrance, allowing in only one visitor at a time. I stand on my tiptoes in an attempt to find Professor Snape. I catch sight of his shiny black hair over the people, murmuring excuses and pardons as I make my way to him.

I greet him with a hug as I bury my face in his robes. He smells like fresh linen and dark spaces, reminding me for a moment of a sound night's rest.

He pats my back once, bidding me to let him go, so I do. I feel his arm barely touch my shoulder as he leads us silently to the front of the line stopping to glare at one of the aurors, who unwisely snarks with a terrible sneer on his face.

"You'll have to wait in line like every…" he begins, only to be cut short by my Professor.

"Severus… Snape," he growls, pulling out his badge from the Order of the Phoenix. "On official Ministry business."

"I'll need to see your wand, and the girl will have to wait outside," the auror responds defiantly.

Professor Snape snarls like he did before melting Karakoff into a writhing lump of terror.

"Imbecilic bloody ingrate. You can't possibly expect everyone to have maintained a wand during a full-on bloody war! The girl is my goddaughter who is under my protection and will under no pretences be left unattended during this visit."

"Sorry, doc. Rules," the auror says with an infuriating grin.

"I doubt Minister Shacklebolt would agree. Kingsley would be revolted to see his forces refusing to grant access for an innocent victim to see her ill father after being tortured by Voldemort's sycophants."

This, fortunately, seems to break something in the stubborn auror, who ushers us in grudgingly after nodding towards some senior official wearing black.

"Ministry," he mumbles towards his superior, who for her part shakes her head in exasperation.

We're guided to the Intensive Spell Damage Unit where patients are piled three to one room. The sterile smell is enough to make me queasy, so I focus on breathing through my mouth. We scan the plaques searching for the name Lovegood until we finally arrive at a room towards the middle of the hall. I step inside to see dad past two sleeping patients against the far wall, sitting on a thin bed with light blue sheets staring blankly into the distance. He doesn't move as I approach.

"Dad?" I say

He doesn't look towards us.

"Dad, it's Luna… I'm here with Professor Snape."

"Snape? No, I just ate an hour ago," he says.

I look to my Professor, but his expression doesn't change.

"Ok… Dad, it's Luna. I'm here with you, I'm safe."

"Lucius, my brother, I still don't know where they are," he says, shaking his head. "I've told you, again and again, trying to beat it out of me can't make me know something I don't."

I step in front of him, attempting to make him see the truth for what it is.

"Dad, it's me. The war is over. We won."

"Oh, you were always the gloating sort, weren't you Lucius? At least your glamour charms are getting better. Luna's eyes were more blue than grey, as I'd said."

Tears start to sting in my eyes. Dad thinks this is all a hoax. His mind is stuck in that dark and mouldy dungeon.

"You have to know it's me, Dad. You remember our trip to Greenland, don't you? When we saw the fairies by the lake?"

His eyes light with a spark of remembrance, then it's gone.

"If you want to make yourself into my daughter maybe you could make me into your son, then we can both remember them together. Sadly, it won't bring them back, though.

Professor Snape sets his hand on my shoulder, so I turn to look up at him.

"It's going to take time," he says solemnly.

"Oh, Severus! Good, you're here! I was just getting hungry," Dad remarks as he hears Professor Snape's voice. "Thank you for shooing those rodents away, aside from Lucius anyway. Always trying to steal the food you bring me…"

My hopes drown into my sobs against the Professor's robes. He doesn't fight me off, instead absorbing all my tears upon himself.

xoXOXox

"Potter," I greet as the scoundrel opens the door.

"Where's Luna?" he responds tactlessly.

"Yes, I'm doing well, thanks. A bit of smarting from the slicing hex when the weather changes, but otherwise absolutely ordinary," I bite back, pushing my way past him through the threshold.

He sighs loudly.

"Look, Draco - I never see you two apart. No need for the dramatics."

"Yes, well, I never desire to see you without Hermione. Where is she?"

"In the library," he says pointing down a dark, narrow corridor stained with uncoloured rectangles where portraits once hung.

I follow the claustrophobic path until it gives way to an open door. The room could hardly be called a guest wardrobe, much less a library. The shelves tower to the ceiling on either side of the narrow space. They're packed with ancient books that fill the room with the smell of old parchment and bound leather. Hermione sits at an end table pushed against the shelving with a small, empty chair beside her. I knock on the wall, turning to step in sideways.

"Hullo," I greet cheerily, hoping not to set off her ire or add to her myriad of woes today.

"Hey, ferret," she replies, looking up from the colossal book she is running a translation charm over. "What's new?"

"We found Luna's father."

Her eyes widen in curious hopefulness before seeming to read my features.

"Is he alive?"

"Barely."

She winces.

"Yeah, it's going about the same here. I've skimmed over thirty different volumes on mind magic. So many have information on erasing memories, but none so far for retrieving them."

"I'm sure you've tried breaking apart the spells to work them in reverse?"

She sighs, running her fingers to get tangled in her hair.

"I have. It's more difficult and less accurate than you might think."

I might think, or I might not. Right now my focus is honed like a niffler to gold on the thin fingers trapped beneath the soft chocolate curls.

"What?" she snaps.

I jerk my head to attention.

"As you are my best witch I feel obligated to help you with something if you'll let me."

"Does it include bringing back my parents' memories or attachment theory in newborns? Those are the things I could use assistance with at the moment."

"No, much more mundane, I'm afraid," I reply, standing in the cramped space to slip behind her chair.

I cast the same charm I do for Luna every day, untangling the wild conglomeration to separate each curl. I run my fingers through it to the ends, dividing the mass into three thick sections to begin a braid. I take my time, feeling each silk strand flow through my fingers - in, out, over - until the last piece is in place. I conjure a thin ribbon the same colour as her hair to keep it tidy, then bid her to turn around, pulling a wisp from either side to frame her face.

"There. It won't do to have your hair falling in your eyes while you're trying to read."

"Thanks?" she asks more than says "I didn't know you were a stylist."

"Far from it," I respond "But one does not spend nearly twenty years with Narcissa Malfoy to come away without a basic proficiency."

She grins a bit, her expression falling just as suddenly.

"Speaking of…" she trails "You alright? Your father…"

"I'm fine. I don't miss him."

She nods.

"You don't, or you can't? Like you feel it's almost pointless because he's gone anyway and no amount of wishing he wasn't is going to change that?"

My heart stops beating as we lock eyes.

"Exactly, yes."

"Same."

We sit in silence as she returns to the translation spell, muttering muggle curse words every few pages. I accio a copy of the Pureblood Directory in hopes this edition is modern enough to update automatically. It is, and soon I find the entry I'm searching for.

A picture of Theodore Nott II pulls an assortment of memories from my occluding room, ones tinged blue with an unwelcome sadness, stained by the bitter longing of regret. His skin in the picture is still the colour of fresh cream. Thick, espresso hair and sapphire eyes sparkle deviously from the page. This is how I'll remember him. I refuse to allow the thoughts of him hollow and pallid, lifeless and cold to seep in around it.

I copy the entry and set off with my instructions, pulling Hermione into a sidelong hug in departure. I'd like to share my gratitude with her, tell her how much I needed the silence, how her acknowledgement mended a piece of my soul I didn't realize was torn. I convince myself she would not appreciate such sentimentality and thus turn sideways to slide towards the exit.

"Hey ferret?" she calls as I make my way out the door.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for the chat."

"Likewise."

xoXOXox

I finally realize the appeal of Professor Snape's robes. They're protective and cosy like a large, fresh blanket. Quite pleasant. I'll have to transfigure some for myself soon.

He's finally relented and given me the black cloak to wear over my clothes as we return to the Tonks' home. It hangs to my feet, floating above the ground to flow out behind me. The sleeves readjust themselves to stop perfectly at my wrists, tightening to keep the warm air in. I'm not much for wearing black, but the comfort, the fit, the way it makes me seem larger than I am - it feels like power.

Draco stares at me while we enter the sitting room. He has a curious light in his eyes as he tilts his head just a little to the left.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing," he lies, shaking some picture out of his head. "You look nice. I'm a bit confused."

"You're confused because I look nice?"

"No!" he replies, scrunching his nose in imitation of his mum. "Never that, lovely. It's just… That cloak is supposed to look frightening, but instead, it's rather sexy on you. It's a bit unsettling is all."

"Fucking Salazar," Professor Snape drawls in exasperation from beside me, buttoning his sleeves up to show his forearms as he storms into the kitchen, undoubtedly to prepare another cup of coffee.

I take a seat on Draco's lap on the sofa, holding him close as he lays his head on my chest.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" I ask.

"I did. Did you?" he replies, summoning a piece of folded parchment from the end table.

"Not at all," I respond, unfolding the square gingerly.

Theo stares back at me from the page, grinning just short of winking at the camera. There are instructions to the Nott family cemetery along with a few kind words from friends beside him.

"I never got to know Theo," I tell Draco. "Would you like to tell me about him? It might help get the sad out."

He sends a fond laugh into my hair, tracing his finger along the outside of the portrait.

"Nott was the devil himself," he says with a beaming smile "So absurd. Always good for a laugh. He was forever concocting terrible plans to wind both of us up at the end of Father's cane. I always went along with him too, knowing he would get us out of it, and if he didn't the fun would be well worth the pain."

"Was it?" I ask.

He looks me in the eyes.

"For the most part," he nods sadly. A memory brightens his features, and he laughs again.

"One time, this idiot here," he says pointing to Theo "charmed one of Father's peacocks bright pink and spelled it to stand on one leg on the front lawn like a flamingo! For years we would both go around saying'10 thousand galleons! They cost ten thousand galleons a piece!' anytime we broke something because that's what father shouted at us when he found his precious bird so defiled."

We laugh together, feeling it wash over the wounded places in our hearts.

"You would have liked him," he says.

"I think you're right."

I look into Theo's mischievous blue eyes, so dark they're almost black, like a starless night. A thought occurs to me.

"He was quite handsome, like Blaise." I turn to look Draco in the eyes. "Were all of your friends your lovers, or just these two?"

I don't mention Pansy, but her name remains unspoken between us. I just want to know, not upset him. He wipes his hand down his face in exasperation. I see I've lifted the lid on Pandora's box.

"Blaise has never been a lover. I'm not sure I'd even call him a friend. He's more of a… permanent fixture if you will. Our families have had business dealings since before we were born."

"So he treats everyone like that, then?"

"Not exactly. He's used to getting what he wants. I think he's intrigued because I don't give him that, so he enjoys toying with me for sport."

"Mhmm," I reply noncommittally. I can't say I understand, but at least it makes more sense of Blaise's lack of pity for Draco's loss.

An obscenely loud banging comes from the front door, causing me to jump as Draco tightens his arms around me.

"Aurors!" is yelled from across the threshold. "You have ten seconds to open this door!"

Professor Snape storms in with his boots stomping in rage.

"Go," he commands Draco.

"I can't," my love replies.

I follow my Professor's footfalls as he glares a final piercing look at Draco before swinging the door open.

"What is the meaning of this?!" he hisses.

"Mrs Granger, or Mrs Tonks?" the auror asks me, disregarding the Professor's question.

"Mrs Granger," I reply obediently. I don't want to cause any additional problems for Draco.

"I need you to sign for this document," the auror responds.

"She will not be signing anything without legal consul!" the professor growls, snatching the parchment from the man.

"Mr Snape, if someone doesn't sign to confirm receipt of her fines we can take her into custody along with her husband," the auror impatiently snaps. "We have orders for the arrest of Draco Lucius Granger to be held for questioning."

I read over Professor Snape's shoulder. There is a whole list of fines for everything from the destruction of Malfoy property to desecration of bodies to changing our names without Ministry approval. The Professor summons a quill, scribbling his name across the bottom of a page before shoving it back towards the auror.

"Why would he need to appear for questioning? What idiotic farse of a reasonable excuse are you dolts using to paint my godson as the criminal he is not?"

Draco steps forward kissing the side of my neck as he slides his wand into the pocket of the cloak. The shards of my sky fall around me as my mind whirrs to pick them up and place them where they belong.

"Draco Granger, you are under arrest for the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."