I don't own Harry Potter, or As Time Goes By, or anything exciting like that. Bother.

AN: Wow, 14. I'm on fire, seems like. Here's hoping it lasts. Of course, with Ginger on my side, how can I not be on fire? Rawr. ;) (How's that for a shout out to my muse?) P.S. Some of you are muses in training with your awesome reviews. More shout outs to follow.

By the way, I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but as this chapter's title is the most obvious use, I thought I would mention...I've been taking the chapter titles from songs.

Draco laughed. He couldn't help himself; after the depressing horrors of the muggle news, all he'd wanted to do was go to bed. Instead, Hermione had switched to something she called a "rerun" of her favorite show. And by Merlin, if it wasn't half bad. He chuckled again as the woman on screen made another snide remark to the posh businessman who (according to Hermione) had been trying to win the heart of said woman for years. What a ponce, he thought, and snickered again. He still wasn't entirely sure if he was laughing because it was so damned funny or if the other laughter that filtered from the screen was setting him off. But either way, he was having a good time despite himself.

Hermione kept throwing him interested glances every time he laughed, or smiled, or snorted with derision at the behavior of the characters. Who knew that Draco Malfoy, sworn muggle hater and blood purist, former Death Eater, for chrissakes, would ever be watching and enjoying a television show? She was nearly tempted to take him to the cinema, next. The small theatre in the nearby village was running some action adventure flick, weren't they? He would probably like that. But she wouldn't want to take Lucius along just yet, so she'd have to find someone to watch him, or lock him in his room…and she found that thought even more horrifying than going on an almost date with Draco.

Seconds later, she snorted at her own fancies. Nonsense, she thought. What I'm doing with Draco and his father is as far from a relationship as what I endured. I'm just helping them. There's nothing date-like about taking Draco to a movie. In fact, it's probably more romantic when I drag Ginny along! She rolled her eyes at herself and then laughed at the show some more, determined to just relax. Lucius had actually already been tucked up in bed, his stomach full of shepherd's pie and warm milk. For Hermione's part, she was enjoying a glass of wine while Draco nursed a mug of cocoa gingerly (she'd only made it moments before and it was still quite hot). Although the weather was getting warmer, the nights still had a bit of a sting to their breezes and she had been secretly delighted to discover his fondness for the chocolaty drink.

With another peal of laughter and a flourish of music, the show finally ended and Hermione sat back, muting the telly, and finished off her glass. She glanced over at Draco and saw he was sipping his cocoa meekly, a strange look upon his face.

"Enjoy it?" she asked and he shot her a glance before nodding.

"It was alright." He tried to look nonchalant, poor dear, and Hermione felt herself grinning. She pressed her lips together and looked away.

"By the way, you never answered me earlier," she began, "during your lesson, I mean."

"What's that?" he asked, trying to remember. He'd been so intent on not falling off that though her question had unnerved him, he couldn't recall what she'd asked.

"I've been meaning to ask, but how are you and your father sleeping?"

Draco snuck a glance at her and turned his attention wholly back to his drink. Chocolate was extremely interesting.

"In separate beds," he remarked lightly.

Hermione turned to him, glared. "That is not what I meant."

He shrugged. "Then what do you mean?"

"Draco-"

"Alright, alright. Lay off. We're sleeping fine. Dad is, at least." He bit his lip and cursed his tongue. He hadn't meant to say that-

"But you're not?" she asked, ending any hope he had that she'd let that one go.

There was a long pause as he debated how best to respond. Did he tell the truth? Did he brush it off? Finally, hearing Hermione shift with impatience, he opened his mouth.

"It's an old house, it makes odd noises," he said. "Right?"

Hermione watched him with narrowed eyes. If he was hearing her in the night, she rather expected him to gloat, to lord it over her, his master, that she had horrific nightmares and woke up crying and vomiting nearly every night. But she didn't feel relieved when that admission didn't come.

"Like what odd noises?" she prodded him and he met her eyes suddenly, a scowl on his face.

He was trying to be nice, damn it! Kind, even. Let her have her demons and never know that he heard them every night and stood before her door like a sentry, waiting for signs of life. It was humiliating for them both that he depended on her so much, wasn't it? Humiliating enough that he was here to begin with.

Hermione merely raised her eyebrows in reaction to his scowl and gestured to his mug. "Want some more?"

He shook his head. She sighed.

"Look, Draco, if you don't want to talk, don't worry about it. I shouldn't push you-"

"I have nightmares, too," he said suddenly and her eyes widened. He glanced away, went on. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he may as well move forward. Best to be honest. Right?

"They're awful and I hate them. They leave me sweating and shaking. I can never get back to sleep when I wake up, at least, I didn't used to." He stopped, chanced another look at her. She was turned away, glass still in hand, the other covering her mouth. He suddenly warmed to his topic. It was as if, now that he'd finally begun talking about them, he couldn't stop. "Sometimes I see the things I've done, the mistakes I've made. Sometimes it's Dumbledore, or Snape. Bellatrix…" He shuddered, then went on in a quieter voice, "Or my mother. It took me nearly a day to realize she and Dad were missing. Two more days to find them. By then, the curse that hit Dad had taken its toll. I never did find my mother's body." His body shook again and he nearly dropped his mug. He took another sip, happy to let the heat burn his mouth, distracting him as he hunched over. "The whippings, the torture, the people I had to torture…that monster's face. I see them all, on rotation. Like bloody clock work." He ended with a small, nasty laugh and immediately stuck his nose back in the mug, took a longer drink this time. From across the way he heard a small wheezing noise and knew Hermione was crying. He didn't look up. He didn't want to see her shedding tears over his own wretched life; not when hers had probably been ten times worse.

There was a movement from the corner of his eye and he finally looked back over. She was staring straight ahead of herself, face solemn, eyelashes damp. She gave a small sigh. But whatever he'd expected her to say, she surprised him again.

"They found your mother's remains…it was in the paper, months after…" She shook her head. "She'd been buried somewhere on your property. She must have died the same night your father took that curse."

Draco stared at her. "So then-" He stopped, took a deep breath. Didn't know if he should feel relieved or not. "I knew they said they'd found her. But neither I or my father were asked to identify the remains. Not that we could. We were already on the run at that point."

"Not from the ministry-"

"Don't stick up for those bastards!" he said angrily. "We were on the run from everyone. They thought Dad had killed Mum, done away with her- I read the papers, too, kept up with the news. Then there was the matter of the missed trial. If it wasn't the ministry chasing us down, trying to make us keep our trial date, then it was other former Death Eaters, trying to kill us so we couldn't testify against them! It was Hell, Hermione Granger. And yes, maybe I should've turned Dad and myself in, but those last months of freedom were all we had. I was certain we would die. More certain than I'd been about it with Voldemort."

"But you acted foolishly anyway," she snapped, finally reaching her boiling point. "Harry would have stumped for you. He wanted peace again, was sick of the fighting and death. Ironic, isn't it, that Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding world, that his own word only carried so far? Turns out they only wanted to use him as long as it was convenient for their purpose. So when you stayed hidden he couldn't protect you any longer. Not even after what your mother did for him. You wasted that bloody chance all by yourself, Draco Malfoy."

"You think I don't know that?" he shouted hoarsely, hands shaking. "You think I don't fucking know that?" And then he was crying and spilled the cocoa all over his hands, burning himself, and staining his pants, and still he couldn't stop. Could never stop blaming himself. His whole life had been nothing but the wrong set of choices and he'd pay for it until he died.

After a few humiliating seconds of that spectacle, he heard a soft swear, felt a hand on his shoulder. The hand disappeared and a minute later Hermione was taking the mug from his hands, wiping it, setting it aside; then taking his hands and wiping them with a cool rag, holding his wrists gently.

"Stop that, now," she shushed him with a calm voice. "Stop. It's not ok, but it's over. Hush." She stood and tugged on his arms, forcing him to stand. To his horror he was still crying, couldn't seem to stop, though the shaking had grown better. She continued talking to him in that quiet, practical voice. The know-it-all with a dash of kindness.

It was nice. It reminded him of his mother. Or of Pansy.

He kept crying, though he clenched his teeth and tried to quell the furious, hollow beating of his heart.

Hermione walked him up the stairs slowly, one arm willingly about his shoulders, the other cradling his hands up against his chest. She maneuvered him to the bathroom and sat him on the toilet. Fetched his pajamas for him, made him get undressed. He blanched and tried to protest, but she insisted. Some of the cocoa had landed in his lap, she said. He reluctantly pulled the pants off. But nothing happened, of course, because he was still acting like a mess and she clearly didn't care about his scrawny legs or some of the scars she saw there.

Just like she didn't care that the bathroom smelled wonderful from his aftershave and shower gel.

Instead, she focused on filling the tub part way with cool water, made him get in, underwear and all. He sat with his hands submerged and knees drawn up as she used a rag to rinse the water along his legs, where the skin was pinkest from the hot liquid. Then she tenderly wiped his face and made him stand again. She helped him dry off, daubed salve on his legs, then bundled him into his pajamas, and applied the same salve to his hands. He'd stopped crying.

"Your legs should be fine," she murmured as she attended to his hands and he felt himself nod.

"Thank-"

"Don't," she interrupted. "You're in my care. I won't be one of those awful witches that lets you injure yourself and does nothing to help. This is my job, right now."

He shuddered, but didn't speak again. Then he was up and headed for his room and Hermione was standing in the doorway, his stained clothing in her arms, watching as he crawled under the covers. Her eyes didn't waver in their focus and he felt naked and exposed. But it wasn't an entirely bad feeling. It was only as she turned out the light and started to close the door that he realized she'd never said a word about her own nightmares, or asked what he thought of them.

He started to call her name, but she turned at the last minute and beat him to it.

"Draco," she said seriously, voice soft, "if you hear anything again tonight, I want you to stay where you are, in bed. Try and sleep."

And then she left, shutting the door behind her.

He lay back and closed his eyes. But he didn't sleep.

Harry glanced over the copy of Blaise's file once more and then tied it to the ministry owl's leg and sent it off to find Ginny. There was nothing in there that looked very serious, aside from the fact that Blaise was a complete coward. The investigation of his mother had turned up the funds she'd been siphoning off to Voldemort's followers during the war, but even then his mother had denied her son's involvement. That had left only the testimony of bitter Death Eaters to sentence him. Zabini had denied all the charges, but with so many turned against him, even with their conflicting stories the Wizengamot had declared him guilty by association.

Harry hadn't liked the outcome of that one a bit. It had been a sham, just like so many other trials. But with Zabini shouting abuse at his captors and judges once sentence had been passed, it had seemed like the right decision to many, and there was nothing Harry could do. It was at that point that he'd decided it was time to do something about the injustices. And so RATS had been born…and what a brilliant idea that turned out to be, he thought angrily. Now one of the very men whose very guilt had been questionable at the beginning was forced to live with a witch that didn't want him; and because of the wrong that had been done that once innocent wizard had likely turned dark, if Hermione was right about his behavior to Ginny.

Harry frowned and then reached for his phone. He needed to talk to someone about this.

Back at the house, Hermione's phone sounded shrill in the sudden stillness following Draco's episode. Hermione hurried to it and snatched it up, sounding quite breathless when she said, "Hello?"

"You alright?" Harry asked and Hermione paused, thinking how to answer that.

"Er," she said.

"Hermione, is something going on? You sound out of breath. Been riding?"

"Heavens no, Harry, it's nearly ten."

"Is it? Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry. I hadn't noticed-"

"Harry, did you take your work home with you again?" Hermione asked, perching on the back of the sofa.

He laughed and Hermione felt her heart warm and head back to its normal pace.

"You know me so well."

"That I do," she replied matter-of-factly. "Now, what is it?"

"I sent a copy of Zabini's file to Ginny, thought it might help her figure him out some. But I'm worried, honestly."

"Why? How did things go this morning?"

"Not terribly," Harry replied. "But she wouldn't tell me exactly what was going, either."

"And you didn't push her for answers, either."

"Do you want me to?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant. Look, Harry, I can't speak for Ginny. All I know is that he bruised her wrist when they got into some kind of altercation. Ginny probably started it, to be fair. But she didn't want to really talk about it with me, either."

She heard Harry sigh.

"I was worried this might happen," he finally said and he sounded so weary Hermione had to actually sit down.

"Oh, Harry. What do you mean?"

"His file, it's not bad, really. You know I never thought he was either for us or against us. But in this situation even the most innocent of wizards can go…" His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words and Hermione sighed as well.

"I understand what you're saying. Well, what can Ginny do, in that case? Return him? I already told her to take it easy, to avoid confrontations and try the sugared approach, but even that could backfire."

"Honestly, Hermione? I don't want him anywhere near her. There's something not quite right about him anymore. Even today I could see he's like a caged animal. I know that feeling. I had it half my life, when I was with my aunt and uncle. But with a man like Blaise, in this situation, I don't think he'll rise above it."

"Ginny's as liable to quit at this point as I am, though," Hermione said softly.

"I know," Harry said. "Look, I'm sending you a copy of his file as well, via regular post. Tell me what you think when you've got a chance, yeah? Ginny should be alright for now. I doubled all the spells and threw some extra ones on top to be certain."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said. "I appreciate your calling."

"Not a problem," he replied. "And you? How are you getting on?"

"Surprisingly…well. I don't think we'll ever be bosom friends, but we understand each other. I'm giving them both therapy."

"Both of them?"

"Yes, Draco had his lesson this morning and then I had Lucius spend a few minutes with the horse-"

"Merlin, Hermione, are you sure that's a good idea?"

Hermione felt herself bristling some and she frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Hermione, I didn't mean-"

"Isn't that what this program is for?" she interrupted him. "Wasn't that your intention? To help both parties, to rehabilitate the victims by promoting understanding and compassion? Or did I read that article in the Prophet wrong?"

"Bloody hell, Hermione."

"Don't you bloody hell me, Harry Potter. After all that we've been through, I thought you had a little more faith-"

"Oh for god's sake, Hermione! I have more faith in you than in Ginny at this point and I'm bloody in love with her! Stop overreacting," he grumbled.

"Well stop being an overgrown prick and maybe I will," she retorted.

Seconds later the awkward silence was broken by genuine laughter from both of them.

"You haven't talked to me that way since before the war, Hermione," Harry murmured once they'd calmed down.

"I blame the Malfoys," she replied evenly and Harry snorted again.

"That's easy enough to do. Look, call me once you've gotten the file- should be in a couple days. And let's have dinner soon, or something. I miss you."

"Of course you do," Hermione said smartly. "I'm the only person you know who's happy to make you muggle food."

"Hey, Molly makes it for me too-"

"Oh, excuse me. Let me rephrase that: I'm the only person you know who makes it well."

Sputtering with laughter, Harry made his goodbyes and Hermione hung up the phone, a small smile still on her face. Now, she thought. Now I can sleep. And she turned out the remaining lights, checked the doors, and then walked into her bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her.

AN: Slow, slow, slow. But good, I hope. I'm just trying to encourage your cleverness to speculate and jump to conclusions. ;) If you have theories, PM me! I'd love to hear them so I can chortle over how wrong you are. Or faint from the fact that some of you are digging about in my brain. Either way.