I don't own Harry Potter or make any money off this fic. Meh.

AN: Oo, lucky 13? ;) I hope you enjoy it. And bit by bit the story begins to come out.

Hermione made the mistake of trying to talk to Draco as he walked his horse around the circle slowly. It wasn't her fault, exactly. He had ridden before- but he was definitely out of practice and nervous as hell. He'd never gotten into the saddle before without his wand in a thigh strap, or someone nearby who could easily save him before he hit the ground; and suffice it to say the fact that he was now riding a creature three times his size and weight without those safeguards, well, it had him worried. So he was concentrating as hard as possible on keeping the horse curving gently about the circle rather than flying off into the sunset with him hanging on for dear life.

That was why her question, though it was innocent enough, startled him to the point of jerking his head up, throwing his body off center, and sending the horse prancing about nervously, because he was so damned nervous.

It took nearly five minutes to convince Draco to stay on the horse and the horse to calm down.

"It's not his fault," Hermione reprimanded Draco. "You're making him nervous."

"I'm making him nervous?" Draco muttered through clenched teeth.

"I have him on a lead, he knows me, he's really a very calm, sweet-natured- Draco, stop fidgeting!"

"I can't help it!" he exclaimed and suddenly grabbed at the pommel, feeling desperately insecure. The horse tossed his head and Draco tried to lean back, realized there was no where to go; and finally, hunched over and gripping the saddle's lip firmly, he shook his head.

"I want off," he said, bit his lip, and stared at his hands. He felt utterly humiliated, but it was better than pissing his pants in front of her.

Hermione eyed him sadly and took a deep breath, then placed a reassuring hand on Jonah's neck. The big, old horse turned his head slightly and finally stopped his twitching. He snorted at her as if to say, who is this ape on my back, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She glanced up at Draco, who looked as if he wanted to cry, and finally nodded.

"Ok. I'll walk him over to the steps for you- unless you want to get off on your own?"

Draco actually seemed to consider it for a minute before shaking his head. With a sigh, Hermione led them back to the steps and then helped Draco awkwardly dismount. She felt bad that he'd given up so soon, but she knew he wasn't used to the activity. Even when he'd still been a spoiled little boy it wasn't as if horse-back riding had been a regular occurrence for him. And she knew that one of the best things to do when working with any form of therapy was to never push the patient. So she helped him off, careful to keep herself still for those few seconds; and offered him an encouraging smile and words. It was harder to hide the shaking of her hands after the steady grip of his hand in hers and the brush of his body along her shoulder, but she managed that too. It was different when she was with the children, even with the teenagers. But Draco, as hurt as she knew he was, was still an adult. There was a big difference between giving a grown man riding therapy and helping a seven year old who'd never spoken.

Still, she had a feeling it would be easier to work with Lucius than Draco. The problem wasn't entirely that Draco was a man, it was also that he was perfectly capable of feeling, of expressing his thoughts, of hurting her in unimaginable ways. Although she knew, logically, that he couldn't do anything because of the spells, it didn't make it any easier to be around him and let down her guard as she had to when running these sessions. But she supposed he deserved a little trust. A very little.

"It wasn't all bad," she said, and he looked up at her as he unhooked his helmet.

"No," he replied slowly and glanced to Jonah. "I just…it's been a long time. I don't know if I'm ready for this, yet."

Not to mention what a mess he felt after riding the huge creature. Its gentle steps had sent little jolts up his spine; the feel of the horse's ribs pushing in and out as it breathed while his legs fell down along its sides… It had nearly been too much the minute he'd gotten in the saddle. How did those children do it? How did they brave something like that, with their multitude of issues? He wasn't in nearly as bad of shape as some of them, not even close, and he'd felt like vomiting the entire time he'd sat up there.

Not because it had been so scary- it had been that, but he probably could have gotten over it if it hadn't been for the feeling of another living creature, under him, reading his emotions, reacting to his commands…that was what had made him so nervous, what had drawn his heart into his throat and made him want to heave or cry.

He meant it when he said he wasn't ready for it. It made him furious with himself to admit that weakness, but he wasn't ready to be in control that way, to be in charge of himself or anyone else. He just wanted to take care of his father. He just wanted to survive. Who needed emotions on top of an order like that?

Glancing at Hermione, he nearly asked her; nearly let her see that side of him- even though she seemed to have already guessed it existed. But instead he watched her quietly for a minute as she smoothed her hands down the horse's neck, over his nose, whispered sweet nothings to him while feeding him a carrot. She was different when she was with them, he'd noticed. He'd seen it first two days ago, at the lessons, but now, to watch her in action with them up close this way, it was obvious to him.

She was just…different. More calm, more peaceful. More in charge of herself. Before he caught himself, he'd said it aloud and she turned to him, eyes wide.

"What was that?"

He shifted uncomfortably, leaned against the fence, hands in his jeans pockets.

"I said you seem different, out here," he repeated and stared at the ground, then up to her again. He forced himself to meet her eyes and wasn't surprised to see that she seemed flustered by the remark. Then her eyes narrowed a second later and she focused on Jonah again.

Draco sighed and glanced over to where his father sat on the grass once again, no doubt getting dirt or mud all along the back of his jeans…he even started to turn away, to exit the riding ring, when Hermione answered him. He was so startled that he tripped and managed to catch himself on the fence again.

"I guess I am a bit different when I'm with them," she said. "But I have to be. You have to let them know who's in control, while respecting them at the same time. It takes more effort than with a dog or cat."

Draco eyed her a moment, then took a few tentative steps back towards the horse. He reached his hand out cautiously and Jonah whuffed at him curiously before nosing his hand for food. Draco gave a rueful smile and then placed his hand on the horse's neck. Hermione moved her own hand immediately and looked extremely interested in the bridle.

"It's not that," Draco said.

"What's not what?" Hermione asked, acting as though she hadn't heard him. He resisted the urge to call her a bitch and stared at the horse before him.

"It isn't just the control. You're in control every day- on the surface, I mean. It isn't giving the orders or the respect that's different. You're more…relaxed, out here. More like…" More like the you I remember from school, when I'd watch you while no one was looking, he thought.

Hermione shrugged, clucked to Jonah some more.

"I may be," she allowed. "But that's also necessary. If I don't have an open mind, am relaxed and calm, then the horses know. And in turn the children know. We all have to work together to make it the best experience possible for those kids. If we don't, or if I decide to stay angry or tense, on my guard during a lesson, then I stand a smaller chance of getting through to them. And that's all that matters."

And she left it there. Don't ask me anything else, her eyes, the set of her shoulders told him. You've used your question quota for the day. Even though he hadn't really asked a question…but he wasn't about to push it. All he knew so far was that she seemed to have zero interest in doing anything other than making sure he and his father got help, were rehabilitated; and that was enough for him just then. At least, he hoped it was. He looked over at her to see she'd left Jonah standing quietly by himself with Draco and was now at his father's side, helping him stand.

"Hey-" he began, but she tossed him one of those looks and he shut up. Then, using the long line of his muscles he pushed forward, off the fence, and walked over to help with his dad. His eyes being on Lucius, he missed the way hers followed his movement.

Hermione told herself she wasn't appreciating Draco Malfoy's lean frame in the slightest. Then she turned her attention wholly to his father.

With each of them taking Lucius by an arm, they guided him up to where Jonah stood, silently rolling his eyes about for another carrot. Hermione made some soft noises to him and then lifted one of Lucius' hands to Jonah's shoulder. Lucius' eyelids flickered some, as if he were processing the new stimuli, the feel of warm hide under his palm and fingers. And then, slowly, he spread his fingers some, moved them minutely along the old horse's powerful shoulder.

Draco held his breath. Hermione smiled as if she'd known all along he would do that. Then she slowly slid her hand along Lucius' arm until she reached his laying there; and lightly covered it with her own. His lids flickered again and the tiniest, most infinitesimal tick crossed his face. It was like a light ripple of emotion that passed so quickly Draco couldn't be certain he'd seen it. But he'd know that particular expression anywhere, he'd wager. His father, proud and uncertain…and annoyed.

But then Hermione was grasping Lucius' hand lightly and murmuring to him about horses; and this horse in particular; and moving his hand along from the shoulder to the neck with the lightest of touches. And his father, in the midst of all this, continued to stare at nothing, except when ripples crossed his features. Draco found it incredibly hard to stand there and do nothing, say nothing.

He managed for three whole minutes.

"That's enough."

Hermione shot him a look, but he didn't back down.

"He's doing fine, he's not agitated-"

"You're not looking then."

"Draco, I won't fight with you about this."

Draco stared at her hard for another minute, then glanced to his father. His face crumpled some, but before Hermione could say a word he'd turned on his heel and was stalking from the ring.

"Draco!" Hermione called after him and beside her, she felt Lucius stiffen in response. She immediately turned to him and saw him staring after his son, eyes bright and focused; the annoyance Draco had seen only in ripples now furrowed his brow.

"Lucius?" Hermione whispered and felt the hand beneath hers move, watched as he slowly turned his eyes from his son to her. His brow smoothed and his eyes lingered over her face, over the scars there. He didn't say a word, just looked at her; and then cast his eyes back up to where Draco had been a moment before. But Draco had already disappeared into the barn and seconds later, though his brow furrowed again, Lucius' eyes went dark.

Hermione grasped his hand more firmly. "Lucius? Damn it, Malfoy, you're in there- you can't deny it. I know you are. And I'm going to drag you back out here whether you like it or not," she whispered, voice suddenly fierce. "If the rest of us- if your own son has to live in this hell, then so do you, by god." Her voice dropped, grew darker. "No one- no one- has the right to check out unless he's already dead. You hear me?"

Of course, he didn't respond. She hadn't expected him to. But she knew he'd heard her. Unfortunately, Jonah began to snort and stamp at the tension between them and Hermione had to turn her attention to him. She fed him another carrot, patted his neck, then led him over to the gate and started for the barn. Lucius stood staring after her a moment and she missed the way his hands, now dropped to his sides again, clenched and relaxed. Then he slowly began to follow her, up to the barn and beyond that, the house.

Around noon, Ginny finally got up the nerve to let Zabini out. She spelled the door open, sending it inward a crack, and called out through the half closed door to him in her best non-confrontational tone of voice.

"I've made some food- lunch," she said. "It's in the kitchen if you want anything." Then she turned and was about to go back to whatever she'd been doing before- clipping Witch Weekly articles? Hell, she didn't know what she was doing with herself. Anyway, she paused at the last minute and turned back.

"Um, look, I'm sorry about yesterday, too. And the day before. I'll- I'll take the spell off for you."

There was no response from inside the room and Ginny waited outside the door a few more seconds before deciding that if Zabini wasn't coming out, then she certainly wasn't going in. If he did come out, then she'd be able to reverse her spell. But if not… It's no skin off my back, she thought, trying to be practical. He is a criminal and he was handed over to me with very few rights allowed him.

She tried to tell herself she didn't feel that bad. That the queasy feeling in her stomach was simply because of Harry's visit. His smell still lingered about her and she'd had a hard time keeping it together immediately after he'd left. It sometimes shocked her how much he still affected her, when they hadn't been together in so long. Just casual hugs at family gatherings, the occasional drunken kiss on the cheek. But never anything more. And her jumpiness around him only seemed to get worse as time wore on, not better. Perhaps because she knew she wasn't really over him, either. That the longer things went the harder it got for her to deny her feelings for him; as the only man she could ever want to be with…

But that was precisely why she had to keep pushing him away. He didn't…he didn't deserve someone like her. She felt too angry and broken to be of any use to a man- and certainly not to Harry Potter. Just thinking of what she really was- a used woman, a heap of massacred feelings tied up inside a pretty package- made her begin to shake and she angrily stubbed out the butt of her latest fag and immediately lit another.

Cigarette in hand, she contemplated the shrimp salad she'd thrown together, took a few bites, and then reached for her scotch.

Which was how she ended up passed out on her chaise lounge, an empty glass and half empty bottle on the floor and a pile of ashes on the nearby end table. About a third of the way through the bottle she'd begun missing the ashtray by several centimeters. Now one hand dangled below the chaise and the other rested against her wrinkled brow as she battled the demons of her mind and memory.

Which was why she didn't see Blaise as he crept from his room and, upon seeing her, sat on the sofa across from her and watched her troubled face.

A gentle breeze was wending its way through the house, carrying with it the scent of orange and cleanliness. Draco sat back from the desk and stretched before he turned his eyes to the windows. He was seated at a small roll top desk in the living room, the first volume of the encyclopedia before him, a note pad and pen to one side. Hermione had parked him there while she'd gone off to clean the house for the afternoon. And the new lessons? It was just like classes at Hogwarts, Merlin help him, except more excruciating, somehow. Mostly because know-it-all Hermione Granger was his teacher. It wasn't so much that it was boring, either. Who knew that muggles had such an antiquated, yet scientific, view of alchemy, for instance? Or what the hell an aardvark was. Seriously, who knew?

He'd meekly agreed to all her proposals anyway, after his childish tantrum back at the barn. It was humiliating enough to not be able to stay on a damn horse for longer than ten minutes; let alone getting mad at her for coaxing signs of life from his dad. Wasn't that something he'd wanted, had tried for, himself? And yet, when it had come down to it he'd been frightened. But of what? Of his father, or of the hope she was giving him?

Sighing at the way the sun shone brightly beyond the shade of the front porch; at the way the lacy curtains blew gently in and out, as if breathing with the wind; he reached for his pen and bent over the book again. He hadn't been lying to her the other day, after all. He'd meant what he'd said. If he and his father were ever released, they were finished in the Wizarding world. They would have to live as muggles and Draco, especially, would have to know how to conduct himself, would have to learn some sort of trade. He'd be the bread winner, anyway, unless Hermione was right about his dad…

Thoughts drifting, he continued to read and took mindless pages of notes while trying to ignore the fact that everything in the house smelled like her.

Hermione stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking out at Draco as he sat, contemplating the yard- or maybe nothing at all. His shoulders straight and relaxed, if thin, his long fingers playing with his pen, his hair as it blew about his ears and forehead in the breeze. He looked for a moment like the schoolboy he'd been back at Hogwarts, though far more weary.

Although, if she was right, he was looking a little healthier than he had when she'd taken him on. Of course he is, she thought smugly. He's one of mine now. And I always take good care of my creatures. But seconds later she frowned at herself. As if he was her property, just because the Wizengamot or the ministry had voted on it and signed some papers.

It really is disgusting, what they're doing, she thought. Because no matter what they did, they don't deserve this. Not if the ministry also deems them safe enough to release. All the truly bad ones were either killed or in a maximum security facility. What could possibly have possessed Harry to put forward this program in the first place?

Of course, she knew the answer to that as well. Harry had talked it over with her one night. She'd thought he was crazy then, but she knew his intentions were good. He'd been worried about the number of former dark wizards who were turning up dead in raids, rather than being brought to trial. So he'd suggested setting up some kind of rehabilitation program that the less dangerous wizards could qualify for, in the hopes that if they had somewhere to go, people would stop killing them outright. Well, that much had worked, at first. But then the families assigned various prisoners started to claim accidents had occurred, reports of abuse began showing up…and the ministry had turned a blind eye. That was when Harry had begun cracking down more from his position of Head Auror. Not that she believed the reports in the Prophet. The paper was utter rubbish, really.

Her eyes swept over Draco as he turned back to his work and her frown melted away. She leaned against the doorframe as she took him in- the small ticks of his hand as he scribbled information down. The way his other hand alternately turned pages and rubbed the back of his neck, his forehead, shifted through his hair.

She felt something coiled very tightly in her chest begin to loosen and uncurl, ever so slightly and she shifted her weight, sticking one hip out. Good god, if she wasn't careful she'd start to feel something for him other than pity and where would that get her? No where, that's what. She'd end up by being sucked back into the ministry only to battle them for the rights of these so-called convicts, who were being treated so inhumanly it hurt her soul; despite the fact that she'd insisted to both her friends she didn't care what happened to them.

She cared. She just wasn't sure if she should. With a heavy sigh at her own inconstancy, she whirled about and moved back into the kitchen to finish dusting any knickknacks that were left. Then she could finally take a breather and prop her feet up. The kitchen door shut behind her with a soft thud and Draco jerked his head up at the sound.

Turning about, he saw only a closed door. He sniffed and prepared to turn back when he caught it- more than the orange scented product she'd been using to clean all afternoon. Juniper. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the kitchen door suspiciously. After a long moment of nothing, he sighed again and turned back around.

The wherefores of why he found that smell- her smell- so intoxicating just then could wait. Jane Addams' entry could not.

Bloody women.

Ginny threw her arms about Harry's neck as he approached her and she felt his arms embrace her as well. Bliss. Total, complete bliss- that's what victory felt like. After that long, horrific year, even with all the death surrounding them now, he'd come back to her. She could live again, some day.

"Hey, Ginny," he said, as he pulled away, "have you seen Ron and Hermione?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "Can't find them? I'm not too surprised at that, Harry."

Harry blushed, but soldiered on anyway. "Well we need them here. We're about to have a sort of council, figure out what to do. There may still be some stragglers left in the Forest, or elsewhere in the school."

Ginny's face grew serious and she nodded in understanding. "Of course, I'm sorry. Want me to look for them?"

"No, you don't-"

"It's ok, I think I saw them heading out the courtyard earlier. I'm pretty sure they just wanted a little alone time, yeah?"

Harry sighed and smiled. "Yeah. Look, just be careful, like I said. Here, let me get someone to go-"

"I'll be alright, Harry. They're just outside, really. Back in a jiff!" She kissed him solidly and trotted off across the hall to the great doors, Harry staring after her. Then she waved to him and passed through. It was dark outside, but there were torch and wand lights everywhere she looked. Leftover fires and other debris. By the unsteady light she made her way to the edge of the courtyard, calling for Ron and Hermione. Thought she heard giggling. From farther away though, near shrubs and tall trees. Then the giggling turned into a high pitched, soft scream, followed by a thud. Another scream, this time cut off. Ginny darted forward, wand held aloft and managed to hex one of the dark figures she saw struggling with her brother. All her thoughts moved slowly: not another one, not this brother, please, please-

And then she saw Hermione's face, flushed, eyes wide with fear and sudden bravery, saw Ron now unconscious and in the grip of a third man- where had a third one come from? And then she wasn't asking anymore questions because there was a fourth man, it seemed, and he had one hand over her mouth and the other was plucking her wand from her hand and she was biting his hand and kicking and wishing Harry could hear the rapid beating of her terrified, furious heart-

She came awake as soon as she rolled off the chaise and hit the floor. She was gasping for air and was horrified to find that her face was covered in snot and tears and her palms were sweaty. She felt like her clothing was a second skin, the dream had been so real…Merlin, it had been a long time since she'd had one like that.

Then she noticed the pain in her arm and realized she'd rolled onto and smashed her drinking glass. Well, at least it was the remains of alcohol and not some fizzy drink. The wound was already sterilized, that way.

And then she began laughing until she cried some more, all the while with blood dripping down her cut up arm. Perhaps because of her hysteria, or simply because of the dream, when Blaise placed a hand on her shoulder she didn't immediately shrink away or hex his balls off. Instead she just looked at him and began laughing and sobbing anew.

He looked at her with a mix of concern and disgust and she let him wipe at her arm with the damp rag he held before she finally pulled away, still sniffling.

"Stop, stop," she said. "I can…I can take care of this. Just- would you mind moving- thanks." She spoke shortly, but not rudely, and with a flick of her wand in her shaking hands she cleaned up the mess on the floor. Then, cradling her arm against herself, she headed back to her own room and bathroom. She paused at her door and looked back at Blaise, who was staring at the floor, an angry expression on his face and the bloody rag in one hand.

"Um, Zabini" she called and he looked up at her. She controlled a shiver, though she knew she must already look a mess, so what did she care what he thought of her? "Thanks. I'll just, well-" With another flick she reversed the Silencio and then she disappeared into her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. The lock turned a second later.

Zabini stared at her door, open mouthed, then pressed his lips together and looked back at the cloth in his hands. With a sudden, violent motion, he threw it to the floor.

AN: Well, well, well. Don't worry, that's not love Zabini is feeling. And Draco? He's just deprived of female company. No sexual healing yet. Harharhar. Har?