Draco woke to dull, throbbing pain in his head, arm, and ribcage, and a most unnerving sight.

Really, it was almost a pleasant awakening at first- if it hadn't been for the fact that nearly every inch of him ached- because he realized right away that he was in the silver-and-blue master bedroom of the cottage, and the quiet warmth radiating from beside him suggested that Hermione was with him in the bed- in other words, he was exactly where wanted to be, with exactly the person he wanted to be with. Any sense of well-being he felt was fleeting, however; it vanished an instant later when his eyes, idly skimming the perimeter of the walls, came to rest on a wholly unexpected and unwelcome addition to the room.

Just inside the door stood Ron Weasley, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in a stance that screamed pure belligerence, giving Draco a glare of such intense loathing that it was faintly surprising to Draco, even in light of all the years of animosity that had existed between the two young men. Draco hadn't thought the human face- any human face- capable of holding this degree of malevolence.

And this is supposed to be one of the good guys, he thought.

"Weasley," he croaked guardedly, trying to struggle into a sitting position, "what the hell are you doing here?"

Ron offered no explanation for his presence, instead growling, "is it true I can't kill you without also killing Hermione? Is it true you've used some sort of curse to chain her to you for the rest of her life?"

Draco grimaced and gave up trying to sit. He was still too weak and sore. Merlin, how he hated lying here while Weasley was on his feet, though. It made him feel exquisitely vulnerable. He sighed.

"I don't know that I would phrase it like that," he said finally, "but essentially, yes. For what it's worth, though, Weasley, I wouldn't have done it if there were any alternative. It was a last resort- the only way to save her life."

"And why, pray tell," Ron ground out through clenched teeth, "would Death Eater scum like you want to do a thing like that?"

Draco sucked in a deep breath- as deep as his aching ribs would allow, at any rate- and pressed his eyes briefly closed. This was it. The moment of truth.

"Because I love her," he said.

"Bollocks!" Ron spat furiously, and, losing his temper completely, lunged for the bed. Slamming his fists down onto the mattress on either side of Draco, he leaned close over the white-haired boy, his voice and eyes dangerous.

"You don't know what love is," he snarled. "It's Harry that loves her. You know where he is now? He's half-dead from winning this bloody war- there's about a hundred fucking healers working right this minute to save his life and the joke, Malfoy, the real ha-ha funny part, is that if he even pulls through this, discovering what you've done will kill him all over again! You took her away from him for no reason other than to save your own worthless hide. You think I'm not onto you, Malfoy? You think I haven't got you one-hundred-fucking-percent figured out? Convenient, isn't it, that you'll never be able to go to Azkaban where you belong without dragging Hermione along with you? Yeah, pretty fucking convenient that you've managed to ferret your way out of the prison sentence you deserve, you filthy Death Eater bastard!"

Normally, Draco would have been swinging by now, but under the circumstances all he could do was lie there, completely stunned by the violence of Ron's outburst. And moreover, he realized with a dull sort of horror, what Ron was saying made perfect sense- it would be a completely Slytherin thing to do, to perform a binding spell on an innocent person in order to get out of going to jail. And not just any innocent person, either, but the best friend and fiancée- (former fiancée, he thought vehemently)- of Harry Bloody Potter, the hero of the entire wizarding world. It would have been genius, actually, if that had been his intent. Truth be told, however, he had never even considered the situation from this particular angle. But now that he stopped to think about it…

Fuck.

It was what just about everyone would assume. Of course it was.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

And then Snape was there, and not a moment too soon, either, because it really looked as though Ron was on the verge of throttling Draco, binding spell or no binding spell. The potions master was dragging Ron backward, shouting "get the hell off him, Weasley!" and Ron was responding in a shockingly rude and hostile tone of voice, "what are you gonna do about it, Snape? Deduct House points?" and no one spoke to Severus Snape that way while Draco was around, no one, goddamn it, and in the next instant he was launching himself at Ron, sore ribs be damned- and then the floor was rushing up at him and everything went black again.

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The next time Draco woke, it was to find Snape sitting in a chair drawn up to the side of the bed. The older man's posture was hunched and unhappy; his elbows on his knees and his head dropped forward into his hands, longish black hair obscuring his face. The room was dim; it appeared to be night.

Draco wetted his dry lips. "Sev-Severus?" he managed. His voice was better than the croak it had been before, but he was still hoarse.

Snape's head shot up. "Draco," he said. "How are you feeling?"

Draco frowned. "Was I having nightmares, or was Weasley in my room?"

Snape looked rueful. "I'm sorry about that. I had to contact Dumbledore for help researching the spell you used- it was quite urgent, I was afraid I'd lose the both of you- (and did I not specifically tell you never to scare me like that again?)- anyway, he was adamant that Miss Granger's friends had a right to know what had happened to her and where she was. Apparently Weasley'd been searching for her, in order to take her to Potter's side once the battle was over, and he went half-mad when he couldn't find her anywhere. The Headmaster absolutely insisted that he be allowed to come here, for all that I argued he could serve no possible purpose other than to act as a distraction and a nuisance." He shook his head. "He's downstairs now. He's been pacing a hole in the living room rug for most of the afternoon and evening. Even Dumbledore has barred him from coming back up here, in light of that little scene earlier today."

"How long since the battle ended?" Draco asked then.

"Over twenty-four hours now."

"And has Hermione-" Draco broke off and glanced at her still form in the bed beside him, finding that his throat seemed to have suddenly constricted, choking off his words.

"She hasn't woken," Snape said gently.

Draco swallowed hard. "Will she?"

"I don't know, Draco," the older man replied honestly, "I just don't know. Right now she's not responding to anything, including Ennervate. But her condition seems stable- for what it's worth, she isn't getting any worse."

"But she's not getting any better."

"No, no she's not getting any better."

They lapsed into silence for some time- then, abruptly, surprising even himself, Draco asked, "what about Potter?"

"What about him?" Snape replied.

"Weasley said he was… hurt."

Snape snorted. "Now there's an understatement. The final duel between him and Voldemort was a close thing, Draco, a very close thing. The Dark Lord very nearly killed him. The healers are reasonably sure by now that he'll live, but they're by no means positive- he's not out of the woods yet. Why do you ask?"

Draco shrugged with one shoulder while absentmindedly reaching out with the other hand to smooth Hermione's hair where it lay fanned across her pillow. "He matters to Hermione," he said, "so now he-" a look of distaste flitted briefly across his face, but he mastered it quickly- "he matters to me."

Snape regarded him steadily out of hooded, dark eyes. "You really do love her," he said at length. It wasn't a question.

It was Draco's turn to snort now. "What, giving her half my life force wasn't enough proof for you?"

"This goes all the way back to that time you were sick," Snape said slowly, "doesn't it? You were going on about her in your fever-state. You've loved her that long, Draco, and you still married someone else?"

"I was duty-bound to uphold my family's wishes," Draco said dully. "I didn't see any way around it. And at that point I was still fighting my feelings- telling myself that all I felt for her was lust. That I wanted her, needed her, even- but never that I loved her. I-" he paused and looked away from Snape, refusing to meet the older man's eyes as he made a confession that, in retrospect, shamed him deeply- "I bought this house for her and presented her with it on our commencement day. I asked her to be my mistress."

His eyes were pulled back to Snape's when the potions master uttered a short bark of laughter- it was a sharp sound, but surprisingly, genuine. He was staring at Draco with both eyebrows raised incredulously. "Did I hear you correctly?" Snape asked- struggling, it appeared, to hold further laughter at bay. "You asked Hermione Granger to be your mistress, and you're still alive to tell the tale?"

Draco smiled faintly. "Just proves she loves me right back."

"Hm," Snape said. "Still, I'd have thought you'd know better than to imagine that she would consider such an arrangement for a single moment. You might as well have asked Minerva McGonagall."

Draco gave a quick, surprised laugh at that idea, but then closed his eyes, a pained expression settling on his face. "I just wish I knew what to do about my family now," he said. "My father will never stand for this, even with the Dark Lord defeated." He shook his head once, decisively, back and forth. "Not a mudblood; never. We'll have to live in hiding. The protections on this house should be-"

"Draco." Snape's voice was so horribly, frighteningly gentle that Draco went immediately very still, his breath catching in his throat, suddenly sure of what must be coming, though he could hardly wrap his mind around the concept.

He stared at Snape with wide, shocked eyes as the older man said, "your father did not survive the battle, Draco. I'm sorry."

"But-" Draco whispered, "but-" he couldn't seem to get any more words to come. Instead, he sat up, wincing as he did so, but determined nonetheless, and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was facing his mentor full-on. "That can't be," he said finally, his voice oddly constricted. "He wouldn't have let anyone kill him. He- he was the best duelist the Death Eaters had. How- Severus, how?"

"You are right," Snape said, "your father was more powerful than any of us, save the Dark Lord himself. He was his right-hand man, as you are aware; his number-one general. But with that power came a much closer bond to the Dark Lord than you or I had. So when Voldemort died, and the Dark Mark burned us- it was ten times more intense for Lucius. From what I've heard, that's what killed your father."

"Oh," Draco said. It appeared to be all he could think of to say. He continued to stare at Snape with haunted eyes. The potions master reached out and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "There was something else I heard about your father," he said quietly. "Would you like me to tell you?"

Draco gave the barest nod, his eyes never leaving Snape's.

"He wasn't with Voldemort at the end. He was looking for you. Someone- I believe it was Bellatrix- stumbled across Pansy's body, and told your father about it. He started asking about you, but no one had seen you in nearly two hours. He panicked. He abandoned Voldemort in order to search for you. I was one of the last people to see him, not long before your elf found me. He was out of his mind with worry. He might not have shown it very often, Draco, but your father did love you. In the end, his priorities were clear."

Draco dropped his head forward into his hands, muttering something through his fingers that might have been "bloody hell." They stayed like that for a long time, Snape's hand resting on Draco's shoulder, a solid, comforting weight. Then, abruptly, Draco's head shot up, the sight of his wide, quartz-colored eyes alarming Snape. There was such fear deep in those eyes. They were a child's eyes.

An orphan's eyes.

"What about my mother?" Draco asked.

Snape frowned, taken aback. "Your mother wasn't a part of the battle, was she?" he asked in confusion. "Surely your father would have put her out of harm's way?"

"Oh, God," Draco said, his voice hoarse, alarming- on the edge of panic. "So no one's checked on my mother?"

"Draco, what-"

"Her ring!" Draco burst out, as though this should have been the most obvious thing in the world. "Her wedding ring was magically bound to father's. If either of them were to die, the stone in the other one's ring would turn black and shatter. And she was left all alone at the manor, and she wasn't herself- father sedated her, and- and Merlin, I've got to find her!"

He shot to his feet, then swayed and would have fallen, had Snape not rocketed up beside him to offer support. "Draco," Snape said urgently, to the boy who had crashed against his shoulder, "you need to lie back down. You are not recovered; you need more rest. I will go to your mother, right now. Leave it to me."

But Draco wasn't having it. Stubbornly gritting his teeth, putting all his concentration, all his effort, into simply placing one foot in front of the other, he pushed away from Snape and staggered toward the door. "She's my mother," he ground out, "I have to go to her." He reached the doorframe and grabbed onto it, struggling to keep himself upright. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

Snape strode over to him, his face grim, and this time seized him by both shoulders. "Draco," he said, giving him a small shake, "don't you understand that if you leave this house, you could be killing Miss Granger, and consequently yourself? The two of you are connected now- and you are the one responsible, so don't you bloody well forget it! Dumbledore has confirmed that she is still drawing on your life force- that is why you remain so weak- and if you remove yourself from her presence-" he left the sentence hanging, watching as Draco's eyes widened in realization, before continuing; "ordinarily you would have an hour to be apart from her before the consequences proved fatal, but under the current circumstances, I am convinced you would have only a fraction of that. You simply cannot leave this house, Draco. I'm sorry."

"Oh, goddamn it to hell," Draco swore vehemently, and then his legs were buckling and he was sliding toward the floor, and he had just felt Snape catch him beneath the arms when, yet again-

The world went black.

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A/N:

Sorry so short again; that's all I can seem to produce lately, what with all the crazyness in my life. The house is ours- now, let the renovations begin! (Because actually, Gotsnape, it's not lovely- it's a dump! But hey- it has potential!) Anyway, for those who also have been following my other W.I.P. "Sometimes When We Touch", there will be an update a week from today- it will also be short, but at least it will be something. My muse for that story has beenappallingly flakey since I lost that one chapter months ago :o(

And there is public voting going on right now for the Dangerous Liaisons Awards- sort of like, oscars for the best Draco/Hermione fics out there. Three of my fics have been nominated in four different categories- VE is in the running for best W.I.P. and best characterization of Hermione. Email me if you want the link to go and vote, either for me or my good friend and Sometimes-beta Alex25, who is also a very talented DM/HG writer, or for some other story altogether- there are many, many good nominees to choose from.