I don't own Harry Potter, bleeeeh.

AN: Oo, a fourth chapter. Look at that.

Draco looked up from his father's once again curled up form to the door of the bedroom. It had swung open quietly and Hermione entered without bothering to announce herself. Not that she needed to. It was her home and he was a persona non grata.

She set the things she was carrying on the dresser next to the door. "Food, if you want it," she murmured, then wiped her hands on her jeans and turned to leave.

Draco made an impulsive decision.

"Thank you," he called to her. She stopped, but didn't acknowledge him, merely shut the door again.

He stared after her in consternation.

What had happened to her? He saw the old her, the one with fight and strength, only when he called her foul names. Yet even that side of her was laced with cyanide. Mentally, she was a ticking time bomb, he had the feeling.

But she hadn't beaten either of them yet and she'd actually brought them food- a fact he was grateful for, whether she chose to acknowledge it or not.

Draco turned to his father and shook him gently.

"Dad? Time to eat."

Lucius didn't respond and Draco sighed, walked over to the food, and forced some of it down. One of them had to keep his strength up, at least, if they were to survive this ordeal.

Then he covered the rest of it with a napkin to keep for his father, went to his own bed and lay back on the downy mattress. He meant to ponder the situation some, think of Granger, of how she'd changed, but he hadn't felt a mattress like this one in ages. His eyes drifted shut, lulled by the sounds of birds chirping in the trees outside.

He was asleep seconds later.

He dreamed.

He was running down the great hall in the ministry, firing curses over his shoulder, not caring who he hit. He just had to get away. What an idiot he'd been, to trust that stupid young turncoat who was working in Immigration. A passport, a new wizarding passport with false identities was all he'd wanted and instead he'd been outed.

Aurors dropped like flies under the force of his magic- and suddenly he realized it wasn't just him, but others were joining in the fight. Other Eaters and cowards who had long ago gone underground with false identities were ducking from their offices, cheering him on, firing their own hexes. As if it were a game! It wasn't a game, it was his life, his parents' lives. They were depending on him to get them out of England and somewhere far away from the people on both sides intent on murdering them all.

Another curse hit the wall above his head and he ducked, crawled behind some shelves, a statue, a table. Crawled for freedom like the coward he was. And then there they were, the legs in front of him, stalling his progress, the slight jump backwards of those feet as their owner realized who it was crawling around the floor beside him. Draco looked up, terrified, caught, humiliated, caught, utterly crushed- caught! Caught, caught, caught! You fucking coward! You fool of a boy, a wizard! What have you done! He could hear her voice crying at him as he returned from his failed mission.

But no, it wasn't his mother, of a sudden. She'd never uttered those words. It was his aunt and he was sixteen again and terrified. The faces swam before him, morphing one into the other and he broke into a sweat, reached out before himself as if he could claw their faces away into nothingness- he cried out.

Jolting upright, he held the sheets to his chest and gasped for air. He cried out again. No, wait. Not him. Someone else. He looked about the dark room, lit only by moonlight, and saw his father lying peacefully on his bed. His eyes immediately searched out the plate he'd left and he saw with satisfaction the other sandwich was gone. His eyes drifted back to his father contentedly, if mildly annoyed, and he was about to lie back down, convinced the cry was that of a bird when it sounded again.

He was wide awake, now, and that was no bird.

Without thinking, Draco stumbled from the bed, tearing the sheets away from himself, and he was out the bedroom door before the next cry came. His heart pounding and him wandless and defenseless, he nevertheless tore down the stairs. Following his instincts, he came to the only closed door on the first floor- the one leading to Hermione's room- and stopped.

What? What was he going to do? Bust in her door? Take her in his arms and comfort her? There was always the real possibility that she truly was in trouble, but even then he wasn't sure what he could do. He tried to remind himself that he was only worried for himself and his father- this was their best chance at normalcy, after all, and it beat Black's so-called home any day. If something happened to her, it would be straight back to prison with them- or death. Or worse than death. Still…

He took a step back, feeling extremely foolish, but then another cry sounded. This one was different and followed by the sound of retching. He took a second step back.

What in hell? He lifted a hand, preparing to knock, to ask her what was wrong, if she was ok, but it seemed somehow pointless. She was a grown witch. If she was in real trouble, she'd call for him, wouldn't she? Besides, he was the prisoner, here. The hardened criminal. There were probably wards on her door keeping him out. And if he did make it inside, what then?

Hi, mistress, just come to see if you need help holding your hair back, he thought bitterly. You know, considering my people were some of the ones to give you those nightmares it's the very least I can do.

He turned- guiltily, reluctantly- and walked back up the stairs. Only once he was standing before the beds again did he think to wonder who had undressed him and gotten him and his father tucked beneath their covers.

Hermione awoke to the early morning breeze coming in her window. She was, blessedly, in the comfort of her own bed. Of course, she felt as if she had the worst hangover of her life.

But she felt that way every morning.

Dragging herself from the bed, she glanced at the digital clock on her table and saw it was only six. She'd actually gotten back to bed before dawn had hit, a small victory in her pathetic life. And yes, she knew she was pathetic, she told her reflection as she leaned over the bathroom sink. Poor, sad Hermione Granger, everyone who knew her said. She couldn't handle the war and now she's a shut in out in the country taking care of farm animals. Do you know you have to actually use muggle vehicles in order to get in to her place to see her? How sad. She used to be the brightest witch of her age.

Sometimes they said it all behind her back.

Well, she told herself. I am still the brightest witch of my age. Just because I choose not to perform magic doesn't make me incompetent, or a dunce. What do they fucking know? Ginny was right- I'm standing on my own two feet, I hold a job, I contribute- help others. Just because I don't want to run for Minister and need pills to get me through the night doesn't make me weak. It makes me human. I've survived what dozens of other women around the world have had to go through in a multitude of wars and I'm alive. It's enough. It has to be enough.

She splashed some cool water on her face, feeling the uneven ridges beneath her left hand as she washed. Then she reached for a towel, patted her face and neck dry, and headed for the kitchen.

She cooked more food than she meant to, set the table, and then stood back for a moment, surveying her work. She drank her first cup of coffee. Cut some flowers from the window planter, put them in a bud vase and added that to the table.

She took a second cup of coffee, decided she was being stupid, and moved the vase to the living room. Then she called up the stairs. It was already seven-thirty. When no answer greeted her, she sighed, tied her robe more firmly about her waist, added a pair of slippers to her ensemble, and trudged up the stairs.

When she opened the door to their room, a naked back greeted her. A naked back covered in scars.

"I'm sorry," she said, but didn't shut the door, or turn away. "Breakfast," she explained to Draco's back.

He ducked his head and finished pulling on his undershirt, then went over to his father. He glanced back at her and stopped at the foot of Lucius' bed when he saw she didn't have a tray in her hands.

"When?"

"Now," she replied. "Downstairs. Come on, you go. I'll take care of him," she said, nodding to his father.

Draco stiffened. "Downstairs?"

"I'm not going to make you eat in your room like naughty children or animals," Hermione said shortly. "It's already out, on the kitchen table, and it's getting cold. Now go- I'll get your father."

Still, Draco hesitated. "I don't-" he stopped, thought better of what he'd been about to say. Clearly, he did need her help, as she was his new mistress. Employer. Guardian?

Whatever. He tried again. "Did you…last night?"

"I don't understand your bloody question, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, finally tired of the tension. "Learn to speak English properly and maybe then I can give you some answers. Now get your damned skinny arse down those stairs right now and help yourself to some fucking food. I made too much and it's getting cold!" she finished, pointing sternly out the door, her face set in a hard frown.

Draco hesitated one last time, but she stomped her foot at him and he got his ass out and down the stairs.

So he has trouble understanding directions, Hermione thought. That's good to know.

She approached Lucius' bed and sat down on the edge of it. Of course, she'd understood Draco's question immediately; she just hadn't felt like answering him, or trying to explain her actions. How did she tell him that she'd lived alone for so long she felt like she needed to be extra solicitous of house guests? (Not that they were house guests, really.) How did she tell him that the only time she felt useful anymore was when she was helping others? That taking care of two grown men was the closest she would ever come to having children?

She watched Lucius breathing quietly for a few moments and then slid one small hand up his arm, resting it on his shoulder.

"Time to get up," she murmured. "Time to eat." She started to make the same soft, soothing noises she made to her horses, cajoling Lucius to get up, to come with her.

Without a word, he finally, slowly, reached a hand up to hers. Then it slid away and he brought himself up, to a sitting position. After that much was taken care of, he let Hermione pull a shirt over his head and she gently tugged his hair free and laid it down his back.- his jailors had left it long, though it was dirty and matted. She made a note that she'd need to take care of that. Maybe Draco could, though Lucius seemed to be responding alright to her so far.

He shuffled from the room before her, took the stairs slowly, and the look of surprise on Draco's face was almost worth it. Only almost, because it was more sad than anything else, and she realized that she pitied him. He seemed to realize it at the same time she did and he shot forward to help his father into his seat.

"Let me," he hissed to her and Hermione handed Lucius off to him without a word.

Draco hovered over his father, spooning a little of everything onto his plate while the older man sat staring down at it all.

Hermione thought that even though he wasn't seeing it, he must definitely be smelling it; because the man blinked twice and tilted his head, as if he recognized what it was being placed before him. She allowed herself to smile and Draco glanced up at her and glared.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't laugh at him."

Hermione rolled her eyes and poured herself a third cup of coffee. Better stop soon, she told herself. She kept her back to Draco as he fed his father.

"I wasn't laughing. I smiled because he knows what he's eating. That's a good sign."

Draco looked up at her as he sat down beside his father and paused his ministrations. He felt ashamed all of a sudden. Of course, it had been her last night- who else? And she was feeding them, she was speaking to them. He'd heard stories…he didn't know what to expect, but as all her actions so far had exceeded his worst nightmares, he knew he should be more thankful. Should at least speak to her with respect.

"He- he isn't always like this. He has moments of lucidity, of comprehension," he said gruffly. "I'm not used to someone else treating him with compassion, like a man. I'm sorry if I was rude."

"I don't ever want to hear you say those words in this house again," Hermione replied. The knuckles of her hands were white as she held her coffee mug. Draco stared at her warily, unsure of what she meant, and decided to simply not respond. That was probably safest.

She turned around after a minute and sat across the table from them, forced herself to put the mug down and then clasped her hands together in her lap.

"Sorry is just a word," she said. "It doesn't mean anything. Actions mean something."

Draco nodded and wondered if it would be alright to eat. A second later Hermione glared at him.

"You're too skinny. Eat. For the love of god, eat it all. I don't know why I made so much. I assumed you'd be starving- I'm right, aren't I? But I guess you shouldn't eat too much too soon…" She shook her head. "Look, you eat, I'll talk."

"You should eat too," Draco dared insert and she smiled at him, but her amusement was cold. As if she was saying, aren't you adorable, you dumb grunt?

"I'll talk," she repeated and Draco shut up. "Now, I don't know what all you're good for, but I guess I'll find out little by little. We'll start with working in the barn, today. I'd been thinking of hiring an extra hand anyway, so this is quite perfect. Or at least, I'll try to make it perfect. Dear god, it's better than the hours and extra money it would take to research a new employee."

Draco kept his mouth shut. Against every instinct in his body and brain, he kept his bloody mouth shut.

Hermione went on, "You can go to work first. Your father will have to come out with us just so I can keep an eye on him, but even in his state there are things he can do. Now finish eating and I'll take you out, give you the tour, instruction." She glared at him to punctuate the orders, then stared at her hands, at the table, even at Lucius. But she didn't look at Draco again. Tension wafted off her like an aroma.

Draco ate as quickly as he dared and didn't speak another word all morning.