Hello lovelies! Happy Wednesday.

I know I've put you guys through a lot with the last few chapters, but I swear nicer things are coming soon xxx

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.

My head is killing me, Draco groaned, and his eyelids cracked open a touch and the moment they did, light attempted to slither its way through the tiny opening. Draco's arm was excessively heavy as he threw it across his eyes, and the motion made his stomach toss.

Draco stilled, and tried to suss out his surroundings by smell, taste and sound alone.

A chirpy bird was in a tree about twenty or so feet from the house, and it was joined by a few friends not too long after. The sheets on top of him—covering his lower half—were soft, but his skin felt clammy, and he came to the conclusion that he wasn't wearing anything.

Sitting up was a bad idea that he rejected offhand. He would just become dizzy, and the chances of him vomiting all over himself were highly probable.

It was another maybe five or maybe even ten minutes before he didn't feel as though he would hurl from any slight motion; grunting he sat up, holding his head in his hands, feeling slightly nauseous, but not enough to empty out the contents of his stomach. (From the tightness, and stabbing hunger pains he was feeling, he gathered that there wasn't much in there regardless.)

"Master Draco is awake now," A voice chirped.

Mipsy, Draco concluded after the gears in his brain kicked into motion. Draco tracked her movements by the places where her feet caused the bed dip slightly.

"Mipsy."

"Master says that you need to drink this when you wake up," Mipsy said, and he could hear the liquid in the glass she was holding slosh about a little, and he also heard the steel in her voice.

Resting the weight of his head in one hand, he extended the other, and carefully grasped the glass Mipsy was offering him; he dared not open his eyes yet before he suffered a sensory overload.

"Thank you, Mipsy," Draco hummed, bringing the glass to his mouth, and he gently tipped his head back— just enough to drink it. He almost gagged at how earthy, bitter and tart it was, but he sucked it up, and downed the rest of the glass's contents. Shuddering, Draco stuck out his tongue and shook his head as if that would somehow get rid of the taste.

"That was foul," Draco coughed, finally cracking open an eyelid to look at the house elf. Who snapped her fingers, and the glass disappeared out of his hand.

"Master James is in his room still, Master Sirius is in there with him. Master is in the gardens, pulling weeds and watering plants, and Mistress hasn't eaten today," Mipsy quickly brought him up to speed on the condition of the other occupants of Potter Manor. The deep frown on Mipsy's face as she mentioned Hermione was not lost on him.

"When was the last time she ate?" Draco asked, his voice gravelly.

"Two days ago, she had some beef stew. Mistress spilled most of it on the ground…and she also broke a vase by accident. Mipsy fixed it and took it out of the room," Mipsy said matter-of-factly, smoothing out any creases in her pastel pink apron with fat, white polka dots.

"Accidental magic?" Draco asked.

"Yes, Master Draco," Mipsy nodded in confirmation, "do you need anything else before Mipsy leaves?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you Mipsy," Draco said, and he thought he was smiling, but he couldn't be sure. His left big toe was throbbing for no apparent reason.

"Right, then Mipsy shall tell Master that you're awake now," Mipsy said before she vanished with a small pop.

Draco left hand was twitching incessantly as he got dressed, pulling on some loose, white cotton trousers, and a pair of casual, emerald green outer robes, not bothering to fasten them before he left his room.

Draco paused in between Hermione and James's rooms: Draco heard soft breathing noises from Hermione's, and a mixture of soft and obnoxiously loud snoring from James's. James's door was slightly cracked and revealed him and Sirius passed out on his bed.

Sirius's leg was thrown over James as he cuddled into his best mate's side and James's arms were thrust above his head; the wizards were an entanglement of limbs and one of them had kicked the sheets off of them at some point during the night.

Draco wanted to go and crawl into bed with them, but ultimately decided against it as his mind nagged at him to go find his Father.

With a heavy sigh, Draco walked past both bedrooms, and he arrived at the top of the staircase. The wizard slowly descended the stairs, a pain shooting into the left side of his ribs as he moved downwards.

As soon as Draco was on flat ground again, the pain was gone, and he made a mental note not to go up or down stairs unless absolutely necessary.

Charlus was just walking back into the house, tracking in a bit of mud as he came inside when Draco found him.

Draco had taken it easy as he headed through the house, so he wasn't surprised that his Father had finished up his gardening by the time he'd gotten to the back of the house.

"Mipsy just came to tell me that you were up," Charlus said softly, smiling gently, he paused right before he removed his muddy boots—as if awaiting something. Charlus's purposeful pause was met with silence that filled the room, and a pained expression crossed his face before he finally took them off; he vanished away the mud when he was finished.

Charlus tucked his wand into his back pocket before walking towards his son, and after he got a good look at him, he tightly wrapped Draco in his embrace.

"Missed you, Dad," Draco whispered softly.

"I missed you too, son," Charlus responded reticently, squeezing Draco just a bit tighter.

Charlus pulled back slightly, but kept one arm around Draco's shoulders as he guided him towards the kitchen. "You hungry?"

"Starved," Draco said simply, smirking at his Father.

Draco ravenously ate a stack of the blueberry pancakes that Charlus had whipped up, drank a tall glass of water, and two glasses of pumpkin juice.

After he finished cleaning up his dishes, he went back into the dining room and found Charlus. Draco's father was sitting in the chair closest to the window on the far side of the room, and had turned said chair so that he was facing the large window. The light gently bathed across the Potter patriarch, and Charlus was cradling a plain, white mug of coffee to his chest—his thumb absently moved up and down along its surface.

It was only then that Remus came to the forefront of his mind. Draco would have thought that Remus would be here. Unless, Hope's condition became critical, and she'd taken a turn for the worse.

"Remus…" Draco trailed off, and Charlus turned to gaze upon his son—his face backlit, and now cast in shadow, which only served to make his next words all the more ominous.

"Son…I have something to tell you," Charlus said soberly, twisting in his chair so that his forearms were resting on the dining room table, the sparkle gone from his hazel eyes.

Charles Potter fiddled with his mug as he broke the grim news about Hope Lupin's fate to his son.

Crack!

The front door was ajar.

Draco closed his eyes, and listened.

Birds chirping, leaves rustling, muted voices, floorboards creaking, and hinges on a door squeaking in protest.

Draco's eyes snapped open, and Lyall Lupin was standing before him—about thirty feet away.

"You're back then," Lyall stated, stepping outside, rubbing at his nape and smiling wanly.

"I am…" Draco started, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets as he ambled over to Lyall.

The older wizard had dropped into a weathered, rocking chair with chipped, white paint that exposed the light wood underneath; it was a couple feet away from the front door. The man slowly, and jerkily rocked back and forth(the ground underneath him was slightly uneven).

Draco leant against the front of the house beside him, and the two wizards gazed out at the forest in cordial silence. In that moment Draco suddenly found himself wishing that he'd made more of an effort with Lyall Lupin; that'd he'd spent more time getting to know him.

The warmth and humidity that had ushered in the summer had been absent over the past few days: bleak sunlight, biting wind and a foreboding feeling punctuated their surroundings.

Draco spotted a fae flitting about the branches of one of the trees on the outskirts of the clearing, its purple skin shimmering as it came to land beside a dark bird with a white underbelly. The fae was just bigger than the bird, and it held out an offering of a wriggling earthworm to the bird; it gratefully slurped up the fat worm.

"I'm sure your Father told you that we've been staying at Potter Manor, since—" Lyall cut himself off, and a choked gasp of air sharply sliced through his lips. Draco ducked his head and respectfully looked away from the man.

Lyall gathered himself, and in a much steadier tone continued, "I'm moving back to Wales. I asked Remus to come with me, but then I changed my mind after I thought about it for a couple days…it doesn't feel fair to uproot him just before his final year."

Lyall rubbed at his temple, "plus he's of age now, which means he can technically do as he wishes."

"You should stay until summer is over at least, there's still a couple weeks left," Draco said, weakly trying to convince a man whose mind was clearly already made up. "You shouldn't be on your own right now."

Lyall sighed. The wizard rose from the rocking chair—which squeaked back and forth gently for a few moments—and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder.

Lyall Lupin was a touch shorter than Draco, so the man's head was tipped upwards as his tired, hazel eyes stared into Draco's grey ones, "she's everywhere. Her voice, her smell…I don't know if it'll be better in Wales, but all I know is I can't stay here any longer."

For a fleeting moment, Draco tried to picture what Lyall must be going through—what Charlus must be going through. Draco pictured life without Hermione's laugh, without her slender hand in his, without her fierce tongue and her stubbornness. The mere concept of such loss almost crippled him, and he hastily shook it off.

Hermione is okay, she's still here, Draco thought, but now he understood a fraction of what Lyall was going through; he empathised with his desperate need to flee.

"I still don't think you should be alone, but I…understand where you're coming from, Sir," Draco whispered.

Merlin, he just ran away—trying to put as much distance between him and the bitter truth as he could—so could he blame Lyall for doing the same thing?

"I'll be fine, son. Now, I need you to promise me something."

"Of course, Mister Lupin," Draco frowned. "What is it?"

A smoky, ghost of a smile crept onto Lyall's face, "you really are a good lad. I need you to take care of Remus…promise me you'll do that."

It was a request Draco didn't even need to think about twice, Remus was one of the most important people in his life, and he would do everything in his power to protect him. "I promise."

Lyall Lupin's smile wobbled, and he caught Draco off guard when he pulled him in for a hug. A whispered confession, "I'm so grateful that he found you lot…I was so worried that—my mistakes ruined his future, but I see you all together, and…you're a good sort, all of you."

Lyall broke the hug, and cowed his head, but Draco saw him swipe away a tear, "I'm sure you really came to see Remus. I suspect he already knows you're here, but he probably wasn't sure what to do with himself. He was busy packing up his things last time I checked."

Draco chuckled softly, "he's in his room then I take it?"

"Should be," Lyall nodded. The wizard sat back down in his rocking chair and closed his eyes.

Lyall looked so tired, as if a world of worry had sucker punched him, and the wrinkles on his face were far more pronounced than they'd ever been.

Draco didn't know what to say to the man, so he simply murmured, "see you around, Mister Lupin."

"Please, Draco. Call me, Lyall," the man said from his squeaky rocking chair.

"Okay, see you around…Lyall," Draco said as he pushed walked around the man and headed for the front door.

Draco navigated his way through the house, taking in its emptiness, but not lingering in any room for longer than necessary. The kitchen cupboards were bare and partially hanging open, the shelves were a bit dusty but devoid of any signs of life, boxes littered the floor, and a lot of the furniture had been shrunken down.

Arms crossed over his chest, eyes amber flecked with gold. Remus was waiting for him. The werewolf scrutinised Draco as he darkened Remus's bedroom doorway.

"We were worried," Remus said.

"I know."

"You look like shite," Remus said, averting his gaze and peering at the pile of clothes he'd dumped on his naked mattress.

"I know."

"You ran away," tears were streaming down Remus's face now, and Draco swallowed thickly.

"I—I know."

"You wanker," Remus said, not wiping away his tears, merely letting them fall.

Draco hit his pinky toe on one of the best posts as he hurried to Remus's side, but the hot pain throbbing in his foot did not slow him down in the slightest.

The two wizards embraced, both crying now. Draco wasn't one to bawl his eyes out, or to sob, but he'd done more than his fair share over the past two weeks.

Shortly thereafter, Remus and Draco ended up outside, each with a piping hot cup of tea held in their chilled hands. Draco stared at the steam billowing out of his as opposed to meeting his friend's eye.

Lyall was inside somewhere, Draco could hear him shifting boxes and muttering to himself.

"She hasn't left her room in two weeks," Remus sighed, grabbing a hold of Draco's full attention. "I wanted to—I wanted barge in there and tell her…not sure to be honest, I just wanted to be there for her…" Remus paused to take a sip of his tea, hissing as the hot liquid hit his tongue.

"Fuck Merlin's bollocks, it's still too hot," Remus swore under his breath.

Draco blew on his own tea—earl grey to be exact, as it was all the Lupins had (Draco didn't mind as he quite liked the black tea).

The wind whistled in his ears.

Remus's mouth was open, and he'd stuck his tongue out to be soothed by the unforgivingly cold wind, and after a few moments of that, he picked up from where he left off. "I was just about to break her door down when my Mum's condition got worse. As you can imagine, my priorities shifted slightly."

Draco didn't add anything, he knew Remus needed to talk, to voice all of his frustration and pain.

"I could feel it you know—all of your pain…not just you, Hermione, James, Sirius. It was fucking dreadful," Remus said dully, and he took a large gulp of tea—it was cooling rapidly out out here with all the frigid cold. "Until I couldn't, yours faded, almost like it was locked away and I couldn't access it anymore…or maybe I just didn't want to…"

"If I had to guess it's probably because I was pissed during my every waking moment for the better part of the past two weeks," Draco said quietly.

"The world is fucked," Remus said then, and with a thin smile he added, "my Dad is moving to back to Wales because he needs to get away…to—fuck. Everything…everything here reminds him of her."

"Yeah," Draco said, failing to think of anything more profound.

"Once upon a time, I thought Dad hated Wales and it would drive him mad if he had to stay there. Now, that's where he's choosing to flee." Remus shook his head in mild disbelief.

"The longest we've been there—since I was four—was for two weeks when I was nine. Dad grumbled almost the entire time," Remus smiled fondly, draining his teacup. "Then Mum put on some music and danced about…and he smiled. It wasn't so bad."

"He said that there are too many things that remind him of her here," Draco supplied.

"I was going to go with him, but then he said I should stay in England since school is in a couple weeks. So I am." There was a bitterness to Remus's tone, but a thread of relief was laced through his words.

If Remus was staying in England, why was he packing? Draco hadn't thought much of it when Lyall mentioned it, but something truly wasn't adding up. Draco said as much aloud.

"Right, I'm moving in with Sirius," Remus shrugged.

"You're moving into Sirius's flat?" Draco asked with wide eyes.

"Your Dad offered to let me stay round yours, but then Sirius suggested I move in with him, and I dunno, it seemed like a good idea," Remus said cavalierly.

Sirius and Remus had repaired their partially fractured relationship at the beginning of the summer, and they'd become closer than ever during July (even though Remus was at Lupin Den for most of it). There was one night when Remus was overwhelmed about his Mother and her deteriorating condition, and he fled to Sirius's flat; he'd crashed there for a day and a bit.

In a weird, not-so-weird way, it made sense. When Riley wasn't visiting, Sirius lived alone, and honestly neither he nor Remus should on their own right now.

Draco finished off his own tea (it was ice cold, and a bit yucky, but he marched on) and quietly walked over to Remus. "We're going to be okay," Draco said, throwing his arms around Remus—being careful not to bonk him in the head with his teacup.

Remus nodded, and wrapped his arms around Draco, "we're going to be okay."

And they were okay, for the most part; some days were better than others.

The day after Draco went to Lupin Den, he wanted to break down Hermione's door, but Charlus warned him off of it.

"Give her time, Draco. She'll come out when she's ready."

Then, Lyall Lupin left for Wales: Draco, Charlus, James and Sirius helped Remus move his things into Sirius's flat.

Riley was a light: she stopped by on moving day, baked two dozen chocolate chip cookies, and filled the small flat with warmth and the decadent smell that is purely unique to freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

Then there were days when Charlus worked tirelessly in the gardens—avoiding everyone—and he held himself almost delicately when he came inside with muddy boots. No voice called out to warn him from tracking the mud into the house.

The worst day for everyone was August seventeenth, Charlus and Dorea's wedding anniversary: James went to wake Charlus up with a stack of blueberry pancakes, and his Father had stared at him listlessly, the clamant quiet piercing straight through James's soul. James went to find Draco, and sobbed his eyes out Draco rubbed his back and promised emptily that it would all be fine.

For the rest of the day, Sirius, Remus, James and Draco made sure Charlus wasn't on his own, and the man's spirits lifted like a leaf skittered just above the ground as the wind carried it away.

The gloomy day tried its darndest to extinguish everyone's hope, but the boys were determined to make something of the day, which is why they made a blanket fort in the living room. The five wizards spent the day safely secured away amongst the pillows, blankets and floating balls of light that Draco crafted.

Charlus told them stories of his youth: the first time he flew on a broom, and the time he accidentally set a bush ablaze with fiendfyre in the backyard. (Charlus's Father was by his side in case something happened, and immediately tamed the flames—controlling fiendyre was a skill passed down in the Potter family for generations.)

Then he told them about when he first laid eyes on Dorea.

In place of the frenzied panic they'd all been experiencing a year ago when Sirius was attacked, they were lulled into a sombre state that was occasionally broken by brief respites of gentle serenity and comfort. Even though no one vocalised it, it was clear that they were all feeling the sting of Hermione's absence.

Draco had been home a week when he'd finally had enough: the wizard paced in front of Hermione's door for the better part of an hour, wearing an impression into the hardwood, but somehow he couldn't will himself to test the doorknob.

Thusly, Draco did the next best thing. He marched downstairs, and found Remus, Sirius and James having afternoon tea at the dining room table whilst discussing the Arrows odds this season.

The bleak, rainy weather had persisted, raindrops were skipping across the window panes, and Draco stood in the doorway like a shadowy creature enveloped in poignant torment.

"Draco?" Sirius frowned. Draco imagined he looked a touch mad—he had been dragging his fingers through his hair the entire time he was pacing, and on top of that, his eyes were a blinding silver that flashed in the dim light.

"Remus, I need your help."

Draco pulled his shirt over his head—he winced at what was now a dull pain on the left side of his ribcage—and had just pulled his arms through the shirt's arm holes when Remus knocked on Draco's open bedroom door.

It was barely dawn, and the sun was viciously battling its way into the sky, but the dark rain clouds were already high and at attention—ready to spit furiously at any given moment.

"Hermione is asking for you," Remus said softly, leaning against the doorjamb, crossing one leg over the other.

"Are you sure? How—How is she?" Draco asked, trying to keep his voice as even as he could.

"She's…about the same as any of us. A fucking mess, mate," Remus breathed, not even bothering to sugarcoat it.

Draco nodded, and with a tiny exhale he pushed the open drawer in his armoire closed. "Thanks, mate."

"I'm going downstairs to grab some food," Remus straightened up, and turned to leave, but before he did, he asked, "am I to tell Mipsy that you're both joining us for breakfast?" It sounded more like a statement than a question from Remus's tone.

"Yeah, but tell her it may be a while. I'll probably have to coax her out of her room," Draco joked—or at least tried to joke—but his tone fell flat. Remus threw a curt nod his way, and strolled out of view.

Draco pressed his forehead against her door, and It took him a minute to work up the courage to pry it open; but when he finally did he was greeted by an empty room. A moment later he heard the running water coming from the bathroom.

Draco's leg were numb as he headed towards the source of the sound, Draco grasped the brass door knob, and let an eternity slide by. He inhaled, he exhaled, he twisted the door knob and entered the bathroom.

All sensation had fled his body: he didn't feel the steam from her shower breathe across his face, nor did the cold from the tiles seep into the soles of his feet. The wizard was on autopilot as he stepped into the bathroom. Hermione's absent minded humming stabbed at his ears with its dreamy levity.

The dragon on her curved back was the first thing he saw—she was partially bent over and rubbing soap across her shin—its head rose when Draco entered the room, and he could have swore he saw steam blow from its nostrils—the room itself was bursting with steam up from Hermione's scalding hot shower.

Draco's heart was in the pit of his stomach, and his eyes devoured every single detail in the room as Hermione's body unfolded and she turned to face him. Hermione was skinnier than when he last saw her, her hazel eyes dull, but they flickered to life as she drank him in. The witch was covered in soapy suds, but she didn't seem to care.

Draco's chest was on fire as their bond rekindled into a tenacious flame; he still didn't know what category their bond fit under, but it was the strongest one he had.

"How long have I been in here?" Hermione whispered.

The question burned a hole in his chest, and anger boiled up in his gut. Draco wanted to scream, he wanted to break something, there were too many emotions flying around inside of him, but somehow he manage to keep them reigned in.

"In the shower, or locked away in your room?"

"Draco."

She said his name, and everything that had been askew and off-kilter over the past three weeks slotted back into place; but that didn't change the hurt, nor did it change the fact that when he needed her, she wasn't there.

They argued, they screamed, and they cried. They were both in the wrong. They'd both fled and hidden away from it all in their own ways.

When Draco fell apart, and crumpled onto the ground, she was right there beside him to cradle him in her arms; and he was home. The world may be fucked, but it was moments like this that reminded him it could be beautiful, and that in the end, they would be okay.